Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point
by Aqua Lion
Summary: In every war, there is only one constant. Atrocities happen. And no matter how the victims respond, no matter what courage or vengeance is unleashed, they can never be undone... though they may change the course of history.
1. Letters

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Prologue: Letters<p>

_Arusian Crusade part 4, follows Changing Tides. Still can't think of any clever author comments.  
><em>_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Dear Pidge,<p>

I'm officially enrolled at the Academy! Took me long enough, I know. Signed on as a pilot. No offense, but hearing about flying is a lot more interesting than hearing about mechanics, and I surely don't want to send you any boring letters.

Earth's a heck of a planet, huh? When you were describing it when you were there it was hard to even imagine, but wow. It's so calm and orderly here. A little tough to get used to, to be honest. But if you could behave yourself, surely I can, don't worry. I did find the Blaze District, just like you suggested. The Crescent Sun was the bar you liked, right? So far it's hard to imagine humans getting into any interesting scraps, but I'll keep an open mind.

They gave me a name, nearly forgot to expect that. Christopher Stoker. I'm not going to bother trying to get used to it, but I guess it's not that bad. Beats having to explain to everyone what Chipral means back home.

Still trying to figure out how I did in the roommate lottery. They put me up with a human named Daniel, he seems like a bit of a reckless lunatic. We'll either end up best friends or one of us won't survive the semester, I'm just not sure which yet. Wish me luck. If even Balto doesn't approve of murder, I'm pretty sure this place won't either.

Love,

Chip

* * *

><p>Dear Chip,<p>

It really _did_ take you long enough. I promise not to call you Christopher if you promise not to call me Darrell. And don't underestimate the humans, they'll stab you. Even when they're drunk.

Watch your mouth about mechanics! Er... your pen... or whatever. You know. Either way, you'll have to forgive me if I yawn my way through all your letters about piloting, just on principle. And I'll have you know engineering got me flying around in a robotic lion that's a piece of an ancient demigod, so when your piloting gets you somewhere to match _that_ you can talk smack. Not until!

I do approve of this roommate situation. If you waste your _whole_ time at the academy being thoughtful and well-behaved I'll be terribly disappointed, you know? Just don't get caught. You've got a tough act to follow, but I know you can do it.

By the way, since you're on Earth and all, mind doing a little research for me? I've been told I need to, uh, broaden my cultural horizons rather than just poking at the lions all the time. No idea why, but I guess it's worth a shot. Find me some classic human literature, would you?

Love,

Pidge

* * *

><p>Dear Pidge,<p>

Really?

_Really?_

Your attempts at literary analysis made Jyari cry, I just want to remind you. But hey, I'm not the one that has to deal with it so why not? I talked to Captain Laterza—she's the new cultural assistance officer—she suggested something called _Inferno._ I'm enclosing a copy against my better judgment. Don't tell me anything about it. Please.

Oh, and I meant to tell you, about that whole flying-a-lion thing. Now that I'm on Earth I finally got to look up what a lion actually _is_. Your descriptions weren't near as bad as I was thinking they had to be, but... spaceships shaped like that? For real? That's ridiculous!

I'm not going to tell Jyari how ridiculous it is, just to preserve a little of your dignity.

Love,

Chip


	2. Routine

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Chapter 1: Routine<p>

* * *

><p>Another day, another Doom fleet.<p>

Okay, so the Drules probably only had so many options.

Lotor's tactics were very different than Yurak's had been, in any case. He was playing a long game. That much was glaringly obvious even to Coran, let alone the warriors. The fleet would jump in a few ships at a time, retreating when damaged, never letting Voltron get close enough to any given craft to take one down.

The pilots were getting frustrated.

That was the real danger, wasn't it? The physical damage was of minimal concern; in a battle of attrition, the lions would likely win, their compact forms and technomystical natures making them much easier to repair and maintain than Drule warships. But if the pilots lost their heads, well, their heads would only be the first thing to go.

He watched them fight, interested in the team's changing strategy. Voltron itself hadn't even been formed in the last battle—five lions, the thinking went, had a better chance of accomplishing _something_ than a single knight. For the moment they were sticking with the same tactics, staying in loose formation as they faced off against the Drule warships.

Warships, and only that. No fighters. Coran had been noticing that, as well. Drule fighter pilots were expendable troops, a distraction not meant to survive combat. The Supremacy had been looking into automating the tiny craft for some time, but it hadn't panned out yet, at least in the Ninth. The lack of fighters was important. If an attack was meant to succeed, all resources would be thrown into the battle.

Saving forces, pulling punches, could mean _only_ that these strikes weren't meant to end in victory. Not in the usual sense.

Red Lion shot ahead of the others, ignoring the same old cautions from his commander, the usual warnings to not get cocky and to let the Doom ships come to them. Lance had actually shown great restraint, Coran thought. He had yet to try to single-handedly take on the enemy dreadnought.

Though he _had_ threatened to.

The team's resident hothead was bearing down on a cruiser now, an Orobas if Coran wasn't mistaken. The dreadnought-killer immediately shifted into a retreat, its massive weapons useless against such a quick target. Hard to say why they would have even brought it in... except as another body, as it were. As it pulled back a battleship swooped in to cover its retreat, and was rewarded with a burst of laser fire that scorched right through the decorative skull shield on its bow, leaving a glowing crater where one of the eye sockets had been.

Oddly fitting.

Of course, Red was far from the only lion taking shots. Black and Blue were further back, using their elemental cannons to pin down a pair of destroyers who'd tried to move in and cover the battleship. As it always was. The same cycle of cover and retreat, cover and retreat, until finally the dreadnought itself vanished behind its comrades...

Green and Yellow Lions had swung wide away from the battle to close in on the open jumpgate. A symbolic gesture, mostly. Jumpgates were tears in reality, where extradimensional space bled into real space and its mad laws superseded normal physics. Such gates could not be attacked, let alone destroyed. But having the lions there would at least make the retreats more _painful_.

The Orobas learned that now as it moved at full speed towards the glowing portal, and Yellow Lion jumped up to greet it with flashing claws and several missiles. Green Lion hovered below the warship, firing glowing blades from its tail, carving several deep furrows into the hull, but not piercing it before the ship vanished into the jumpgate.

A flare in the corner of the screen caught his attention; working together, Lance and Allura had managed to breach another cruiser's armor. Only the personal intervention of the _Admiral Lionbane_ prevented Keith from swooping in to finish the job, and it seemed the close call was enough for Lotor. The dreadnought launched a withering barrage at Pidge and Hunk, scoring few notable hits but forcing them to retreat, and herded the rest of its fleet into the jumpgate.

The Drules had fled, again. It was a victory of sorts.

Still, not a single warship had actually gone down... and soon enough, they would return with all of the Voltron Force's fine work undone.

Coran wondered how long it would last.

* * *

><p>Another day, another failure.<p>

Nothing ever really changed, did it?

It almost seemed like Lotor became _happier_ with each defeat. As if every illustration of his enemy's power just made him that much more excited to face it again. It would have almost been cute if it weren't so damned important.

"You realize, Lotor, that you are leading a war effort. This isn't a game."

The prince glowered. "Of course, Father. But let me illustrate." He drew his sword, which caused several courtiers to flinch, and a few of the guards to step forward. Drawing a weapon before the king was iffy, and doing so in the throne room was entirely forbidden—but when Zarkon himself showed no reaction, the guards seemed to decide not to make an issue of it.

He wanted to see this...

At his side, Haggar crossed her arms. "Mind your manners and your decorum, Lotor. If you weren't the Prince Imperial, you would have a smoking hole in your chest right now."

"My apologies." He gave a short bow in her direction, then raised the sword and performed a few quick strikes. "The Art of the Predator focuses on boxing the opponent in, does it not? Force them to move where you will, limit their options, and finally land the killing blow. Such is my intention. I am the predator, and Voltron my quarry; they will fall into the routine I want them in, and when the final blow comes they will have nowhere left to turn."

Zarkon arched an eyebrow. He'd studied the sword arts as well, of course, and Gar Strasis had been his favored technique. His son was either missing a key component or simply leaving it out. "Have you forgotten the element of overwhelming force, or do you actually have something planned that's capable of _destroying_ Voltron once you've set all this up?"

With a nod, Lotor stepped back and gestured to Haggar, whose impassive gaze did not change. "As it happens, the Revered Lady and I have been consulting over the matter for several weeks. When Voltron is at its least prepared and most vulnerable, it will face the mightiest robeast ever fielded by the Ninth Kingdom."

It took all of Zarkon's willpower to suppress a very un-kingly snort of laughter. As far as he was aware, nobody had called Haggar by her proper court title the entire time he'd been on the throne. The witch had turned her attention to Coba, who was rubbing his furry head against her robes—the distraction a telltale sign that she, too, was trying to hold back her amusement.

When he trusted himself to speak again, the king nodded. "Very well. I'll leave you to that with no interference; your success or failure will be on your head alone." His eyes narrowed. "And I expect success."

* * *

><p>The official sport of the Yazata province was a game called chelvor; Keith understood the name to be derived from an ancient Arusian word meaning 'escalation'. He, personally, could think of a few other descriptors that might better apply.<p>

'Unmitigated chaos' was the one coming to mind right now.

At its heart, chelvor bore similarities to soccer, though limited hand contact on the ball was allowed. Balls, rather; they were color-coded, one for each team. The game was played on a square field with a goal in each corner, smaller than soccer goals, which either team could score in. Traditionally, over the four quarters of play, one goal would be opened up each period. In casual, untimed games, all four were usually open from the start. That lessened the escalation concept. Only lessened. Because the other element of chelvor was that every time a goal was scored, a new ball for each team was added to the field.

The goals, of course, were computerized. Trying to keep score for this madness by _sight_ could only end in miserable failure.

At some point, a field had been set up at the mountain settlement, to give the civilians as well as the aid workers and builders a way to blow off steam. Allura had decided it would be a great idea to haul the team over there every so often, as a gesture of support. Besides, it would help the warriors as well, easing the tension of Doom's constant probing attacks.

At least from _that_ angle, it was a huge success. Kicking a ball around had a myriad of therapeutic effects, not least of which was the joy of pretending it was actually Lotor's head.

Keith was in the southwest corner, playing goalkeeper. Which, given the nature of chelvor, was a bit of a misnomer—he was guarding against black balls, but it was also his job to put white ones _in_ the net. How the pilot of Black Lion always ended up on the white team, he wasn't sure... grumbling about it to his lion, let alone his team, only got him laughed at.

Hunk was standing next to him, whistling country music as he handled goalkeeping duties for the black team, because the Arusians couldn't seem to bring themselves to play the position opposite a member of the legendary Voltron Force. Fame was overrated.

"Is it just me, or are they kinda ignoring our goal?" Hunk asked, frowning at the melee in the center of the field. "I'm bored."

"Yeah, I'm with you." Keith shook his head. "Nobody's going to come charging at one of _us_, you know that."

"Hmph." Frowning, the big pilot crossed his arms and looked at the lions, all five lined up and silently standing guard over the chelvor field. "If having five giant metal cats staring at 'em isn't a problem, having us flyboys on the ground shouldn't be a problem. We gotta find a way to convince these people we're only human."

Though he understood the sentiment, Keith couldn't help arching an eyebrow. "I think they're very aware we're human and that's part of the problem, actually."

"...Oh, come on. When did literal smartass become _your_ department?"

"When nobody else is around to cover it, generally." Hunk scowled; Keith chuckled. "Sorry, big guy. I just—heads up!" A black chelvor ball came hurtling through the air at them, bounced off the commander's chest, and rolled a few meters away. Almost immediately, he cursed his reflexes. Hunk hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention, it would've been so easy to just not mention they had incoming..._ incoming, really? This is a sport, it isn't combat!_

Though one _could_ be forgiven for thinking the thirty-person melee in the middle of the field was a battle.

The ball had been spiked their direction by Allura, who usually had even more trouble than the rest of them. After all, it was one thing to be a warrior of the Voltron Force. It was something else to be a warrior of the Voltron Force _and_ the beloved princess of Arus. Chelvor was a contact sport, but nobody would lay a hand on her, no matter how much she begged and pleaded with her subjects to treat her as a peer on the field.

Naturally, this left her focused on the rest of the pilots.

The princess came darting after the ball now, clearly intent on getting _someone_ to take her seriously in this game. Hunk was moving in on it too and Keith steeled himself, ready to make a move. Two on one, but... as the other goalkeeper took possession and turned on him, he dropped into a slide tackle, intent on either robbing Hunk of the ball or just getting him out of the picture.

Running into Hunk was something like hitting a brick wall, and Keith went down like a pile of bricks, which really was way too many brick metaphors for one moment but he couldn't help it. Probably should have anticipated that, but the big guy hated sparring so much, he and Keith had never actually faced off... Hunk looked down at his fallen commander and laughed, hazel eyes glittering a little too smugly. "That did not look productive, chief."

"It _wasn't_ very productive," Keith admitted, rolling to the side and managing to get one hand on the ball long enough to knock it out of bounds.

Back at midfield, the struggle at the southwest goal had not gone unnoticed. Nor unexploited. Lance had managed to take possession of three white balls at once, with a few of his civilian teammates covering for him, and booted each one at them while the black team's goalkeeper seemed distracted.

Allura sprang into action immediately, swatting the first ball out of the air and sprinting back into the fray. Though he probably should have been paying attention to his own surroundings, Keith couldn't help watching as she made a valiant attempt at tripping up Lance, who was having none of it and upended her in return.

There had been a time when Keith had vehemently protested playing games when they could be having sparring practice. A few rounds of actually playing had changed his mind about _that_.

While he was focused elsewhere, Hunk had taken a flying leap at the other two white balls, but misjudged and ended up jumping between the incoming projectiles. Oddly enough, Hunk also wasn't nearly as solid in midair as he was on the ground. Keith reached up, wrenched his shoulder around, and unceremoniously dumped him to the grass before taking possession of the balls and calmly kicking both into the goal.

Pidge had taken up refereeing a week ago, deciding it was more challenging than actually being on the field, and now he trotted over and pelted Hunk's prone form with four new chelvor balls. "You know, Hunk, the idea is to stop the other team's balls from going in the goal. It's not so much to get your face broken showing off your acrobatics."

Rather than standing up, his friend just glowered from the dirt. "Y'know what, little buddy? You don't play the game, you don't make the rules."

"I ref the game, I _do_ make the rules. Also, insulting the ref is a foul."

"There's no such thing as fouls in chelvor."

"...Yeah. Right. It's a _misconduct_, then." The little pilot rolled his eyes. "When did literal smartass become your department?"

Hunk shrugged. "When nobody else is coverin' it."

* * *

><p>There was something about the water...<p>

If Sven could spend every moment by the river, Kylos was certain he would. As it was, he moved through treatment and therapy with uncontained impatience, seeming to live only for the moments when the obligations of healing were ended and he could flee to the water to... what?

The sanahar wasn't too sure about that. His patient could lose himself staring at the rushing rapids for hours, but of course he flatly refused to explain. Not for lack of questioning. Kylos had used every persuasive technique in his bag of tricks and gotten nothing for his efforts but a few dark glares.

Not unusual.

It was a delicate balance, a fine line to walk. They had an adversarial enough relationship anyway. Threatening to withhold these excursions until he understood the purpose behind them had occurred to him more than once, but he had no real desire to treat Sven so much like a child. Besides, such a threat would undo the fragments of progress they'd made.

Better to wait it out. To have patience.

The human demanded so much _patience_.

Twilight fell, and yet another day of silent water-watching came to an end. "Sven, it's late. We need to return."

Those dark eyes remained fixed on the river. "You've never explained why you're so insistent on that. Night life on Ebb is so dangerous? Doesn't strike me as that type of planet."

Kylos cocked his head. Novel interpretation of what seemed to be common sense. "There is no danger. But you must eat and rest. Your body requires these things, if you intend to be strong enough someday that we can come out here without this." He gestured to the wheelchair folded up beside him, a device Sven still seemed to consider the bane of his existence. "The river will still be here tomorrow."

Scowl. "Must you patronize me?"

"Must you ask for it?"

He was shocked when Sven actually laughed. Never, in all the time he'd been working with this patient, had he ever heard the human _laugh_... for a moment he completely forgot what they'd even been discussing. "I suppose I deserved that."

"I... am glad you are pleased? I think?"

Sven laughed again and Kylos mentally flailed for what he was missing. "I am. You don't need to treat me like such a time bomb, Kylos."

That was easy for _him_ to say. "You must forgive me for pointing out that you _are_ a bit of a time bomb, especially for one trained in the psychic arts..." He decided to forge ahead on that subject, to show a bit of vulnerability and hope it might open his patient up as well. "If you lose the slightest grip on yourself when I'm unprepared, it is rather painful for me."

To his great relief, the human looked thoughtful. Then he turned his head, gazing into the water again. "Yes. I know... I don't do that on purpose." There was a distance in his voice. "And you're not the first..."

The words had been carefully calculated. A tiny sliver of information, and no more, but even that was a success. Kylos asked the next question because he had to, because he was expected to, not because he really thought it would accomplish anything. "Do you wish to speak of that?"

"No."

_Of course not_.

A few moments of silence, other than the river rushing beside them. It was time to go in, past time really. Darkness had fallen—twilight passed by shockingly swiftly on Ebb—and the first stars were beginning to glitter in the night sky... "Come. We really do need to be going in."

A nod, this time, and he stood as shakily as always. "Right."

"We can use the wheelchair if you like." It was always necessary to point that out, especially when Sven winced as though each step were a struggle... as they probably were. Make the offer. So much of their interaction involved such lost causes. He wouldn't ever agree to it, of course, but—

"Yes. That may be a good idea."

The sanahar froze for a moment. Stared uncomprehendingly at the human who met his shocked gaze with the usual calm. "...One moment, then." He unfolded the chair, still too stunned to even glory in the victory.

Occupied as he was with pushing the wheelchair and not running anyone over, Kylos didn't pay much attention to what the human was actually _doing_ on their way back to the hospital. Not until later, when he thought over the curious incident and tried to figure out why Sven had acquiesced. And he saw it... saw it so clearly. Though he still didn't understand why.

Sven's eyes had never left the stars.

* * *

><p>Aside from chelvor, the team had taken a few other steps to alleviate tension. Or at least boredom. They pitched in with the rebuilding as much as possible, and trained plenty, but occasionally they all needed a break. Their commander wasn't about to fight that truth. For his part, Keith had requisitioned a Go set along with the wristcomps—writing it off as a 'mental fitness tool'. If the Alliance really wanted to argue the point, he was ready to give a whole lecture on the game's benefits to strategic and tactical thinking.<p>

The others were finding their own ways to cope...

"Okay, which of you clowns told Pidge to read_ Inferno_?"

Keith arched an eyebrow, turning away from his scrambled eggs, as Hunk charged into the dining room and swept a reproachful look over the team. He suspected he knew who was at fault. "I might've suggested that he should diversify his interests a bit, why?"

"Oh great, Keith. That's just great. Why don't _you_ go chat with him about it, then? You should hear him!" Pitching his voice into a very poor imitation of Pidge's, he continued, "Nine levels of hell? What do you need _nine_ levels of hell for? Your Satan seems kind of OCD if he needs to sort people into that many levels, is that for literary or theological reasons?" Returning to his normal tone, he flopped down at the table and started gulping orange juice. "I hope you're pleased with yourself!"

By this time Lance was doubled over laughing, and an amused look had settled in on Allura's face even though she probably had no idea what was being discussed. Keith could barely suppress his own laughter, but he wanted to finish his breakfast, and he was certain if he actually lost it the big engineer would chase him out of the room right then.

"I'm sorry, big guy, but I didn't recommend any specific books. Not my fault." Turning his full attention to Lance, who'd regained his posture but not his composure, he put on his best command face and barked, "Corporal McClain!"

His friend jerked to attention so hard his chair nearly went over backward, then a rather surly expression spread over his face. "Dude. What was that for?"

"I'm delegating some authority to you. Go explain_ Inferno_ to Pidge later, you're the expert on hells."

Lance contemplated this assignment for a moment, then retorted, "Byriar sikor sa kye."

Keith wasn't sure on the translation, but by now recognized _sa kye_ as a component of several Baltan curses. "See? You've been learning from him, it's only fair that you give back."

Sigh. "Yeah, okay. I'll get to it later."

"Hopefully not too much later," Hunk muttered, then his expression became less grouchy as Pidge trotted in. "Morning, little buddy."

"Morning." The young pilot flopped into an empty seat, but didn't bother taking any food. "I hope you guys are just about done eating."

A frown from Hunk; the others gave him confused looks. Allura was the one who actually spoke. "Why do you say that?"

"Because if pattern holds true, we ought to be interrupted right about..."

_SCREEEEEEEECH_.

"...now."

Lance jumped to his feet. "You have _got_ to be kidding."

The alarms continued shrieking; Pidge looked a bit smug as he grabbed a bagel and headed for the control room. One by one the others packed up and followed, Hunk shooting a mournful look at his leftover bacon, Allura attempting to run and finish drinking her juice at the same time. Keith sighed, gulped the rest of his coffee, and trailed after his team.

Did it _always_ have to be at breakfast?

This was getting really old.

* * *

><p>General Herbert Wade was going nowhere fast, and he knew it.<p>

He'd been well-decorated in the Rift War. Earned his commission and his honors through superior skill and tactics. But he'd not adjusted so well to civilian life... what the hell was he doing, sitting around behind a desk and pushing paper all day? His heroics certainly hadn't translated into the wealth and fame he'd been hoping for.

Fame may yet elude him, but there were other ways to gain wealth.

The files on the Arus Expeditionary Force—now known, unofficially, as the Voltron Force—were heavily classified. They'd been locked down tight when things in the Denubian went hot. It just so happened that Wade had the clearance to view them... his lip curled as he read through the names. Garrett, Holgersson, Kogane, McClain... he'd read through everything and found very few holes.

It was his understanding Holgersson wasn't too relevant to the mission these days anyway.

One more personnel file to go. Stoker. As usual, Wade couldn't quite prevent his lips from curling in disgust as he reread the mission parameters... just to remind himself why he didn't feel guilty. He'd argued long and hard that sending mere _cadets_ to Arus was a fool's errand.

Their success grated on him. But they were still nothing but children, and surely they had to slip up sooner or later... opening their positions for people who _deserved_ to be on the front lines. Who'd _earned_ the right to be the face of the Alliance war effort.

If they needed a little push to fail, well, that could be arranged.

Stoker was more interesting than his companions. Much more interesting.


	3. Unconventional Warfare

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Chapter 2: Unconventional Warfare<p>

_In the interests of full disclosure, the robeast in this chapter is actually Lord Marrowgar from World of Warcraft. It probably isn't the last time I'll be using a WoW boss in that capacity... robeasts are hard.  
><em>_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Maintenance on the lions wasn't taking much these days. Doom's ridiculous game of musical warships was annoying the pilots something fierce, but not doing all that much damage to the lions, and mostly the field repair systems were able to cover it—along with a few tweaks here and there in the dens. No need to drag any of the lions into the hangar. Which meant there wasn't much reason to hang around in there at all.<p>

This led to the team's youngest member spending a lot of time in his room, reading, because apparently cultural appreciation was important or something. Arusian court literature was not proving to be a stunning success, and he was relieved when his door swung open, despite the fact that his visitor hadn't knocked.

"Hey, squirt! Professor Lance is here to assist you with all your literary interpretation needs."

Pidge gave the auburn-haired pilot a disbelieving look. "I didn't know you could read."

"Dude, ouch. Wasn't that a bit much?"

Grin. "Yeah, but it was way too easy to pass up, too. I'm sorry. Honest I am. So what's bringing this on?" He had a fair idea, actually. Hunk had seemed exasperated with his take on _Inferno_ for some reason.

"Because our fearless leader has informed me that as the resident expert on hells, I need to come explain the human variant to you. First point: that book isn't about the human variant. It's about one particular guy's take on one particular human religion's variant. Humans have a whole lot of other hells too."

"That seems inefficient."

"It's eternal damnation, Pidge. Competent management would make it less painful and therefore less effective. Let's move on, shall we? I hear you think our devil's OCD, but your people have multiple hells too, so what's the problem?"

"We... yes, but ours make sense!" Pidge dug up a piece of paper and drew out a three-circle set diagram. "Look, these are the Baltan hells. Kalikto, Kalshan, Kalttara. Sins of the body, sins of the mind, sins of the soul." He marked each one as he named them. "They overlap, see? Stick to one type of sin and you only end up in one hell. Go for all three types and you end up in all three hells at once. Very logical."

"Very logical," Lance agreed, sounding very much like he still thought logic had no place in the process.

"And then you've got this." He drew a series of nine concentric circles, then attempted to illustrate the various gates and sub-circles and rivers and... with a scowl he gave up, scribbling over the image and drawing a giant question mark next to it. "..._This_," he repeated after a hesitation, deciding no words were going to express his point more clearly.

"Mmhmm. That really does about sum it up. Before we go into that, could you explain to me _why_ exactly you're reading this book in the first place?"

"Keith told me to, his words, broaden my cultural horizons."

"So he mentioned. You make a habit of listening to Keith?" Pidge just looked at the person who was, after all, supposed to be Keith's right hand man. After a few seconds of that Lance chuckled. "Okay, okay, that was a very badly worded question. Why does he care, though? What brought that on?"

"I started beating him at Go."

Lance was quiet for a moment. Just for a moment. Then he burst into laughter, falling back to lean against the bed. "Dude, seriously? _This_ is his revenge for you beating him at a board game? He doesn't have to take it out on all of us, god!" His eyes glittered even brighter than usual as a few tears of mirth struggled to fall. "I'm gonna kill him!"

Scowling, Pidge picked up his copy of _Inferno_ and threw it at his companion, half glad and half regretful that it was only a paperback. "You know, oddly enough, you're not the first person who's been moved to tears by my attempts to get all cultured and stuff."

"Somehow I don't find that surprising." They looked at each other for a little longer while Lance regained his composure. Then, "I'm going to formally recommend to our well-intentioned commander that he let you skip the cultural education. And maybe next time he loses at Go he should just suck it up."

"I want to be there for that discussion." Pidge recovered the book he'd thrown and stashed it away in a drawer, then frowned. Maybe literature wasn't a huge success, but he did want to learn something much more relevant from this. "So how did you turn into the expert on hells, anyway?"

A brief hesitation. "Really?"

"Really."

The other pilot threw his hands behind his head and grimaced. "Back on Valkan VI, we didn't do the church thing that often and I kind of goofed off through most of it anyway—was pretty sure religion was all about wings and poofy clouds and stuff. But I did manage to get out of it that hell was a fiery little pit where bad people went."

Somehow, Pidge was not shocked to find Lance had been less than diligent about religion. He wasn't one to judge, in any case; hells they had, but both races of Balto had given up on _gods_ several centuries ago. "With you so far."

"After the colony was destroyed, once I found out what a Drule Supremacy was, I kind of got worried because... well." He frowned. "I was sort of seeing it as—if the cops catch a bad guy, they throw 'em in their own jail, right?"

Pidge nodded. He was beginning to get a glimmer of where this was going. "Right."

"I figured hell had to work the same way. And there were a whole lot of Drules, so what if there wasn't enough room in our hell for all of them? But then I did some research, and it turned out that humans actually have a whole ton of hells." Shrug. "That made me feel better."

_Aha_. Leave it to Lance to find comfort in the thought of hells rather than heaven.

Before the little pilot could comment on that, alarms shrieked, and an irritable glint sparked in his emerald eyes. "What now? They're way ahead of schedule." He jumped up and scowled in the direction of the door. "Guess it's time to go see about filling some of those hells up, huh?"

Cracking his knuckles and standing himself, Lance shot his friend a roguish grin. "It's what we do best!"

Pidge wasn't sure he'd go _that_ far. But it sure beat literary analysis, in any case. "Let's move."

* * *

><p>The attack really was ahead of schedule. Doom and Arus weren't terribly far apart, by interstellar standards, but Hunk was still pretty sure this was an impossible turnaround unless it had been the plan all along. Which he supposed it probably had been. Drules tended to prefer overwhelming force as a first resort, but it wasn't the only trick in their book... Lotor seemed to have an appreciation for tactical finesse.<p>

That was pretty annoying.

"Pen ship inbound. Looks like they've finally decided to grace us with a robeast." Keith had been driving them all up the wall for the last month wondering when the robeast was going to show up, but personally Hunk had been just as happy without one. Just because it had been inevitable didn't mean they shouldn't have enjoyed it while it lasted... but on the bright side, maybe this meant they'd be able to have breakfast in peace again soon.

First there was the matter of surviving the battle.

Minor detail.

"Pen ship landed. Right in the middle of the desert." Green Lion moved ahead, eyes glowing white as it studied the horizon. "We going to wait or intercept?"

"Intercept. No sense letting it get near the castle or the mountains." Black charged, the other four right on its tail, but pulled up short when the new monstrosity came into view.

"...Dude." To the shock of absolutely no one, Lance was the first to speak. "These things get worse and worse! Is that their big strategy? Kill us with ugliness?"

The thing gliding over the sand looked formidable, that much was certain. A skeletal beast with long arms and no legs, hovering on a cloud of sapphire energy. Bony wings stretched out behind it, wider than the monster was tall, and its talons gripped an enormous glowing axe.

All of that was really bad enough. The _four_ skulls gazing at them with burning eye sockets were really just the icing on the cake. Which was a terrible metaphor, Hunk mused as he pulled up and fired a barrage of rockets into the robeast's exposed ribs. Cake was a delicious treat that was greatly improved by icing. This thing was hideous and the skulls just made it worse, so shouldn't that be the opposite of icing on the cake?

_Oh, whatever. Knock this thing out now and we can eat real cake later_.

He'd been the first to take a shot, so he was the first to get the monstrosity's attention. It spun, glaring with all four of those godawful heads, and a line of pale blue flame erupted between them, burning beneath his lion's paws.

Immediately his sensors began screaming a warning. Whatever the blue stuff was, it wasn't really fire—the lion's temperature was actually plummeting, and some of his more sensitive instruments were already registering partial failures. Yanking back on his controls he wrenched Yellow free, stumbling a little as he made it to open sand. "Don't stand in the shiny stuff, guys. Kinda hurts."

"Noted." Red Lion swung around the side, evading one burst of icy flame and leaping up to sink its fangs into one of the robeast's spiked wings. Roaring and flailing, the abomination managed to fling the lion aside, but not before Lance's tail laser scorched a few smoking wounds across its back. "Oof. This thing's pretty strong, for a bag of bones with no muscle to it."

"Occult science doesn't really respect the laws of physics. Sort of like how technomystical combining lion robots don't." Keith sprang up on the other side, firing Black Lion's spear cannon wildly, but most of the projectiles passed through the bony construct. His shock tail had better luck, drawing a howl of rage, and the commander didn't stick around to wait for a counterattack.

Pidge and Allura had split up to take the robeast in a pincer maneuver, but their actions had not gone unnoticed and more blue fire shot out to greet them. Blue Lion took to the air, while Green opened its jaws and unleashed a ferocious cyclone against the incoming flame. But the counterattack failed completely, fanning the flames if anything, and the pale energy engulfed Green Lion before Pidge had time to react further.

As the lion struggled to move out of the attack, slowed by the cold rapidly permeating its chassis, the robeast charged forth with its axe raised for a decapitating blow.

"What the hell _is_ this stuff? My movement systems are all failing!"

"Hang on, Pidge!" Black Lion spun around, breathing lightning, as Red came sprinting back with missiles and lasers pounding into the robeast's back. But it shook off their attacks, intent on its kill.

Hunk's eyes narrowed and he pushed forward himself, ignoring his weapons for the moment. Yellow Lion was the slowest of the five lions, which was a far cry from actually being slow. And it seemed like the great machine was feeding off its pilot's determination as well as its own engine power as it swooped down and clamped its jaws onto Green's back-mounted turret, yanking its comrade out of the freezing energy. "What did I say, little buddy? Don't stand in the shiny!"

"Yeah. Thanks for that." The other lion's eyes flared white again as it settled to the ground, fixed on the fading patch of ice. "It's some kind of supercooled sorcerous plasma. Not a solid, more of a fog—our armor won't be much use against it. The good news is the effects wear off quickly."

"Yeah, _if_ you can get out of it," Lance muttered.

While the others had been preoccupied with Pidge, Allura had taken to the air and circled around—after all, the robeast had been just as distracted as any of them. With Green Lion safe, Blue came screaming from the sky, a volley of missiles greeting the robeast as it spun to face the new threat. One of the skulls took the full brunt of the attack and cracked right down the center, spewing glowing energy out the split.

Which really only made the damned thing creepier.

Raising one wing, the monster fired a bony spine at the incoming lion, piercing its lower jaw as Allura tried to use her frontal cannon to counter. The spine drove into the ground, carrying the lion with it, and another gout of icy flame shot towards the trapped ship.

"Allura, move!"

"Yeah, I'm working on it." Blue's paws flailed against the sand, but the spike was pinning it too powerfully. "I can't—can't seem to—"

Red Lion charged in, breathing its own fire to try to neutralize the incoming ice. It didn't work any better than Green's cyclone had. Lance pulled back, focusing on the spike impaling Blue Lion instead. "Hang on, Princess." Red's tail snapped forward, one laser spearing out from it as burning beams shot out from the lion's eyes as well.

The spike glowed under the onslaught, twisting and then melting away entirely, allowing Allura to jump out of the cold flame's path at the last instant. "Nice shot, Lance."

"Wasn't it?"

Keith's snort of amusement came loud and clear over the comms. "Okay, guys. I think we need to stop messing around. Activate interlocks!"

Seemed like a good idea to Hunk; he pulled into formation, moving on autopilot as the orders came through. The formation still fascinated him. This wasn't mechanics, no matter how much metal and engineering was involved. It was something he couldn't understand, so he didn't try, just letting the sense of earthen strength flow through him and savoring the bond with his team.

His _friends_.

Voltron really was awesome.

As the knight landed, its energy barrier fading, the robeast howled a challenge and fired another spine. This one hit Yellow Lion, sending daggers of pain shooting through Hunk's chest as surely as if he'd been impaled himself. "Ugh! Really starting not to like this thing..." He felt the others moving, kicked out, and Voltron snapped the spine off easily.

Of course, there was still the matter of the gigantic _hole_ that had just been punched in their left leg. The field repair systems had already kicked in, sealing the worst of the breach, but that was going to take a lot of work later. Something to look forward to.

"Draw Magma Pistols!"

Well, of course. What else would you use against an ice robeast? They sprang back, firing searing bolts at the monstrosity, and this time succeeding in blasting one of its skulls clean off.

Which it did not like.

Hunk's first impression was that the robeast had spontaneously exploded. No. Not exploded—it had thrown itself into some kind of whirlwind maneuver, spinning at impossible speed as its axe and the bladed spines of its wings scraped deep gouges into Voltron's armor. They pulled back, but at the same time more of the icy flames were shooting out. Too many more, turning the desert into a glowing blue hell. "We can't dodge all of this!" he protested.

"In the air," Keith ordered, but the whirling dervish knocked them from the sky almost immediately.

A tug from Allura. "Can you guys balance? I think Blue can stand the cold."

"Worth a try." Hunk pulled up, throwing Voltron into a bizarre one-legged dance as they tried to retreat from the flailing robeast. "Not sure how long we can keep this up, though!" He could feel the pilot of the other leg was having even more trouble trying to keep the giant robot steady, only reasonable since she was the one on the ground.

It did seem her theory was correct, though—the right leg was now planted squarely in the sapphire flames, and Voltron still seemed to be mobile.

"Blue Lion's losing function, but slowly," Pidge reported as if reading his mind. Which, in formation, wasn't outside the realm of possibility. "But we aren't getting any openings, and our armor can't take much more of..." He trailed off as the assault suddenly stopped, the robeast falling back. "Oh. Uh. Reading low energy levels in the robeast, but they're building up again."

"Oh, wonderful," Lance muttered.

Keith broke in, deadly serious. "How long do we have before it's recharged?"

"Two minutes, give or take."

"Okay." Voltron took a few more shots with the Magma Pistols, then banished the guns and stretched both arms out. Red and Green's frontal cannons fired, creating a fiery cyclone that bathed the monstrosity in flame. Nice, hot, red-orange, _normal_ flame. "We have two minutes, then. Finish it."

The robeast charged, lashing out with its axe, scraping a deep wound down Voltron's right shoulder. Hunk tried to respond with a kick, but only hit empty air. The skeletal beast was hovering, after all. Scolding himself for the reflex he fired a missile at the apex of the kick, watching with some surprise as the massive projectile shot up through the monster's ribcage and exploded all over the three remaining skulls.

"...Dude, that was _awesome_," Lance complimented.

Hunk chuckled. "Awesome's my specialty." _Couldn't do that again if I tried_.

Voltron jumped back from another wave of blue fire, ducked under a blow from the axe, and took a slash from the spiny wings directly to the chest. They took to the air and the robeast followed.

"One minute." Pidge's voice was low as Green fired off a series of plasma bolts from its back cannon, most of which passed right through the monster's bones. "This would be the time."

"Can't your shield block that whirlwind?" Allura asked.

"No. Not large enough."

Keith broke in. "We need to throw this thing off balance somehow, and fast. If anyone has an idea, let's hear it, _now_."

Ideas. Ideas were easy. Good ideas were harder. Ideas that actually worked were the hardest of all... Hunk closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating. Weak points. Everything had them. Even a hovering skeleton robeast that defied all known laws of physics. If they could just...

His eyes widened. "The wings. It was using 'em as stabilizers. If we can knock one off..."

"Say no more. Form Blazing Sword!"

The gleaming weapon seemed to startle their foe for a second, but not long enough to get an attack in. Then it glided forward, axe raised, roaring in fury.

It was their commander who came up with the plan, and their commander whose lead they followed. The maneuver was very simple. Very effective. And very painful. As the axe slammed down Voltron made no attempt to block it, taking the blow full in the shoulder and drawing a howl from Keith as a hole opened in Black's armor.

At the same time, Green Lion reached up and clamped its jaws on the base of one of the monstrosity's wings, holding it just long enough for Red to stab with the sword and sever the limb completely.

Hunk wasn't quite sure why things played out the way they did. Whether the robeast wasn't smart enough to realize what had just happened to it, or whether its power levels had returned the instant before the wing was lost—if it was, perhaps, too late for it to stop. Either way, the beast threw itself into a spin. Wobbling. Flailing.

Falling.

Voltron sprang after the monster, bring the sword down in a blow that shattered the ribcage and scattered the last three skulls over the desert.

"And that," Lance crowed, "is what we call flawless victory!"

"Oh, does 'flawless' not mean what I think it means?" Allura inquired sweetly. "Because I see a couple of holes in a couple of lions."

"No, no, Allura. You need to broaden your thinking. If we'd come out of that without a scratch, our engineers would have nothing to do with themselves. And then Hunk would be making Nanny miserable in the kitchen, and Pidge would be making the rest of us miserable with literary analysis. But, since there _are_ a couple of holes in a couple of lions, they'll be kept busy and happy. See? Flawless!"

Hunk chuckled. "Guy's got a point."

"Yeah," Pidge agreed. "Unless, Allura, you want to explain to me the philosophical implications of Arusian court literature always starting with sex scenes, because it's really kind of unsettling..."

The princess sputtered a bit before getting coherent words out. "No, I do not!"

Keith sighed; the psi link was practically overflowing with his exasperation. His entirely unconvincing mock exasperation. "Are any of you ever going to grow up?"

Four voices responded in unison. "No."

* * *

><p>So much for the Art of the Predator.<p>

"Your meticulous setup did not go as planned," Zarkon observed calmly, studying his son as he knelt before the throne. "Of course, you are far from the first commander to suffer defeat at the hands of Voltron. You may not be the last."

Well, it wasn't a removal from the assignment. That was something. Still, Lotor couldn't help a faint snarl at the scolding—it wasn't _his_ fault the robeast had failed so miserably. The humans were far more resourceful than he'd thought, that was all. Besides, it was Haggar's masterpiece that had failed, not his tactics. "I _intend_ to be the last."

"Indeed. To that end, I have a mission for you which is related to your current duties." The king gave a careless flick of his wrist, activating the projector crystal, which immediately flickered to life and displayed a whirling gray-green planet with a handful of small oceans dotting its surface. "This is planet Balto, an Alliance world near the edge of this galaxy. According to the spy who sent us this information, it is of no tactical or strategic value, a backwater with no redeeming qualities except certain ore deposits on its moon."

"Ore we can use, I trust?"

"No. Elements mostly important to the inferior technology the Alliance employs."

Tilting his head in confusion, Lotor studied the image. If his father was bothering to mention it, the ugly little world must have _some_ redeeming feature. "Behind their lines, then?"

"Indeed, but much too far out of the way to be of use to us at this stage." Before Lotor could growl something about his dislike of guessing games, the king continued. "No. The importance of this world cannot be overstated, but it is a matter of morale, not tactics. It turns out not all of Voltron's pilots are human."

_...Of course_. He'd known the princess was Arusian, after all, but it was so much simpler to think of the Voltron Force as 'the humans'. Accuracy could safely be traded for convenience in some cases, and this was one of those times.

His mind returned to his duel with Voltron's commander. Or more to the point, the chaos afterward, when one fool's lack of discipline had nearly ruined everything. He remembered the small, impossibly quick warrior who'd disarmed him and been suitably punished for that presumption... it had struck him as strange, at the time, but he'd had no freedom or inclination to dwell on it. Now the oddity returned.

_Humans_ didn't tend to use children as soldiers.

"I see," he said finally, scolding himself for not reaching the conclusion on his own. To go by some spy's reports lessened the honor. "And you believe that is worth diverting my fleet from its operations on Arus?"

"Yes. Given its minimal importance, Balto possesses a token defensive force at best, and our spy reports even that has been reassigned to reinforce the Troika system." That system's trio of heavily-populated worlds had been under siege for the last two weeks, tying several Alliance battlegroups up in desperate combat. "Only atmospheric and ground emplacements remain."

"Leaving it exceptionally ripe for attack."

"Indeed."

Lotor frowned. What his father was getting at was certainly tactically sound, but he couldn't help feeling the assignment was beneath him. It would be a swift, easy strike with low resistance, if any... to send the _Admiral_ _Lionbane_'s fleet, or even the dreadnought alone, seemed like incredibly inelegant overkill. "Surely one of the smaller fleets could handle this? You're using a robeast to swat a gnat."

"I suggest taking a robeast, actually." Zarkon's eyes gleamed. "We've been assured by our spy that the Alliance would never pull forces from Troika to defend Balto, but it's best not to put _too_ much faith into the opinions of such filth. Take all necessary precautions." The king leaned forward. "You will also be taking an Enyo convoy."

Everything around Lotor froze. For a moment he thought it was just his own shock, but no... every single denizen of the throne room was gawking at their king in varying degrees of horror and disbelief.

He found his voice quickly. "Father, you can't be serious! You're going to use Enyos against an _inhabited_ planet? That can't possibly be—"

"Enough, Lotor! Have you forgotten what we're facing? The Alliance had the unmitigated gall to raise a god against us! I don't care what Admiral Yurak proved about the truth of Voltron. The fact is, our enemies don't care about cultural respect or decency in the least. They've given up their right to be treated as civilized beings. We will teach them what comes of those who cross the Ninth Kingdom so boldly!"

The rant actually caused the prince to take a step back. It may all be true, yet... he'd found Voltron's commander to be quite honorable. And regardless, weren't they supposed to be above the mad acts of vermin? Sometimes a firm hand was necessary, of course. But this went so far beyond merciless enforcement of Drule superiority... "Surely razing the planet would suffice."

"Didn't suffice on Arus, did it? No. The Alliance is desensitized to such attacks, in any case. We must send a message." His father frowned at him. "What are you so worried about, Lotor? It's a planet of beasts, and our right is to slaughter beasts where we find them, is it not?"

"Not so gratuitously! There's no glory or honor in that."

"Honor." Zarkon snorted. "Honor is a guiding principle, not a suicide pact. There's a reason the old ways are _old_. They've become obsolete as the Alliance gains delusions of grandeur and mistakes our forbearance for weakness. Now, enough. If this mission is beyond your capabilities, I'll give it to Admiral Cossack, but my decision will stand."

Wince. Of course it wasn't _beyond_ him. "I... will go and requisition the convoy, Father."

"That's better."

As he walked out of the throne room, Lotor took careful note of the petty nobles gathered there. It seemed like he was getting an even mix of admiring looks and derisive scowls; it was not a ratio he found encouraging. Were the old ways really so far gone?

Enyos...

The Enyo-class stripminer ship was not a combat unit in the least. It was a robotically-controlled shell around a massive explosive payload and a drill that could pierce nearly any surface; the craft was so volatile it would be sheer madness to take it into a situation where any resistance might appear. But then, the existence of the Enyo was sheer madness as it was.

Enyo was High Drulik for _worldbreaker_.

* * *

><p>Kylos rarely lost his composure. It was part of why he'd chosen to become a sanahar in the first place; family tradition would have put him into neurosurgery, a discipline he found fascinating but unfulfilling. Turning his calm, gentle temperament to ease the suffering of the wounded had seemed like a good idea at the time.<p>

Today, he lost it.

"Swimming? Are you _mad?_ That's out of the question! You're barely managing to walk, and your upper body is in much worse condition than your legs—you cannot honestly expect me to clear you to _swim!"_

The human simply watched him with an expression very close to amusement. "You're ranting, Kylos."

It was an accurate assessment, which made it all the more irritating. "Do you want to heal or not, Sven? I'm at the point where I really cannot help wondering."

"Even humans have figured out water therapy. Don't tell me you don't have it on Ebb."

Such therapy did, indeed, exist on Ebb. The fact was entirely irrelevant. "You are in _no_ condition for that yet."

"I can walk, can't I? It's not like I'm going to throw myself off a diving board and drown. I know my limits."

It was all Kylos could do not to laugh at that. "You have overestimated your limits since you woke."

"Haven't put myself back in a coma yet."

Truthfully, it had been awhile since they'd outright argued. His patient was stubborn, but had acquiesced to much—albeit grudgingly—since the excursions to the river became reality. Were they strengthening him so much, or was he merely testing how far the sanahar could be pushed? "Why is this the battle you've chosen to fight, Sven?"

The dark eyes narrowed; the human's aura hardened into a protective barrier of ice. "Because."

Sigh. _So it comes to this_. "Very well then; I will bargain with you. I have no desire to blackmail, but if I'm to go against my own judgment there must be a compelling interest to do so. If you can explain to me why the water is so important to you... I may be persuaded."

The question hit hard. Too hard, really... Sven looked away. "It isn't something _you_ could understand."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But it may change my mind. And you might feel better speaking of it, regardless."

"No." His patient's fists clenched. "It isn't the water. That's just a symbol. My link to something... someone very important." He turned again and Kylos took a step back, completely unprepared for the blazing rage in those dark eyes. "Someone I failed. Miserably. Is that what you want to know? Are you happy now?"

..._So then. There it is_. Yet it made so little sense. The water, a link to someone? But sentimentality could manifest in odd ways, couldn't it? He _did_ understand. _The water brings you comfort, yet it reminds you of darkness. Your conflict becomes more clear..._ he chose not to voice his thoughts, because if anything annoyed Sven more than having to admit something that was bothering him, it was having Kylos draw conclusions from those admissions.

He settled for, "It does not please me for you to be in pain. You understand my job is to ease that pain."

Sven gazed at him evenly. "And now you understand the water will assist you in your _job_."

True enough. He wondered how far he could press this—how much he could learn. "And the stars?"

Sven looked startled, drew back slightly. Then gave a smile of grudging respect that carried no joy whatsoever. "I was a navigator."

That did make some sense. "You are?"

"I was."

Kylos grimaced, but was pretty certain that wasn't a battle to fight right now. He wasn't navigating anything at the moment, in any case. "I see." He took a step back. "I will go and consult with the specialists about a course of water therapy. You understand _they_ have the final say... but I will strongly recommend it."

To his surprise, Sven just nodded. Calm as ever. "Thank you."

The shock of those words was almost enough to cause the sanahar to neglect his own manners. "...You're welcome," he half-gasped, and fled the room.

No matter how much he learned, it seemed like his inescapable conclusion was that he couldn't understand the human at all.


	4. Defender of the Universe

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Chapter 3: Defender of the Universe<p>

_...Yeah. Still alive. I blame a combination of real life, the Voltron Twitter RP (ya'll rock!), and the fact that this was quite possibly the WORST. CHAPTER. EVER. (If I've ever said that about a chapter prior to this one, I take it back.) I'm sorry! Should be back in the swing of things now, though... enjoy!  
>(fixed weird editing glitch, thanks Raelee!)<em>

* * *

><p>Most people found the chill of the catacombs to be foreboding. Allura knew that, and could respect it. Empathize with it, even. But she could not bring herself to fear the cold—it was familiar, welcoming, and she slowed as she entered the crypts. Focusing herself. But more than that, just accepting the embrace of the spirits.<p>

It had been too long since she'd come down here... fighting Doom was important, of course, and rebuilding her planet was even more so. But perhaps she'd overdone it. She knew—in her own mind as well as from Nanny's worried scolding—that she also needed to leave a few moments for herself. The _rest_ of the team found time to do some things for themselves.

Any interest she might have had in Arusian court literature was now quite gone, so spirit talking seemed like a good alternative.

Besides... she had questions.

Sometimes it was tempting to take the ritual on a sort of autopilot. It was simplicity itself, by now, she'd done it so many times... but no. Anything but full attention would be a sign of grave disrespect. So Allura focused carefully as she arranged the candles in a circle around her father's tomb. Seven candles, for the seven pillars which bound the world of the living to that of the dead.

"Shala mistor," she murmured as she lit the first candle. Piety. The duty owed to these ghosts by those who followed.

"Kavion." Transience. Time was fleeting.

"Dal." Reciprocity. Mortals routinely crossed into the realm of the dead, why shouldn't the dead be able to cross back, if only briefly?

"Roktvi." Wisdom. Required to perform the ritual, forever sought by its practitioners.

"Mazrada." Eternity. Death was eternal, but so was life—the unending cycle which spirit talkers paid full reverence to, even as their touch rippled the boundaries.

"Immentag." The soul. Indestructible, transcending both realms.

"Arus." Harmony. All things in harmony...

The flames pulsed. Floating from the candles to rest over the heart of the tomb, animating the spectral image which appeared before her. "My daughter." King Alfor's ghost smiled. "It is a pleasure, as always. What troubles you?"

_What troubles me._ She wished their conversations could start out differently than that once in awhile, but really there was nothing to be done for it. Something almost always was troubling her when she came down here, and that was how it had to be—spirit talkers did not disturb the dead for social calls.

"Father... we've been fighting the Drules. Defending Arus. We've been successful, and our people are beginning to rebuild. They have faith in us, and hope in the future again."

The specter's smile broadened. "Indeed. I am proud of you, my daughter; more proud than I can say. And yet, you do not seem pleased by these developments."

"Oh, I'm pleased." Allura sighed, moved forward, rested her hands on the tomb and looked up at him. "It isn't about not being pleased. But when does the cycle end, Father? It seems like no matter how badly the Drules are defeated, they only surge back stronger. They attack, we defend, our people rebuild, the rebuilding is put in danger if not destroyed outright."

He studied her carefully, sympathy sparking in his pale eyes. "It _is_ a difficult path, Allura. But this world is worth fighting for as long as necessary, is it not? War carries no deadline, no expiration date. You bear the Blue Lion's key; I think you know this truth."

Though his tone had been gentle, she flinched at the scolding words. Not that she'd phrased her own question well anyway. "Of course. But that... isn't quite what I'm asking."

The dead king nodded. "I am listening."

Allura took a few shallow breaths to steady herself, looked around at the flameless candles before focusing on her father once more. "I've always been told, believed, that destiny is something greater. Is Voltron just a tool to hold up an endless stalemate? I remember you and Coran debating the pilots, bringing the Alliance in. You said you expected the project to be... to accomplish greater things..." She lowered her eyes. "What were your goals, Father? What are we to _do_ with this champion you raised?"

"Ah." He crossed his arms. "That is a difficult question. In some respects, the project was a mystery to all of us... even those who worked on it most closely." Frown. "It was my hope that we might change the balance of power between the Alliance and the Supremacy. To convince the Drules peace, rather than cold war, was the wisest course."

She nodded. The words made sense. And certainly, it did seem Voltron had caused the Drules to rethink their policies—if perhaps not in the way her father had intended. "Then we are to act in the service of some greater cause?"

"As to that, I cannot say." Alfor studied her. "What I might have done, had I lived to oversee the knight's deployment, is not relevant any longer. Circumstances are changing at every moment, and it is as I have told you before. Guiding the warriors falls to you, my daughter. You must do what _you_ feel is right."

..._What I feel is right. Again_. "Father, I don't _know_ what I feel is right!"

Immediately she felt foolish for the outburst. Childish, beyond childish... but he moved forward and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. His touch burned and froze at once—the candle flames, the chill of death, coming together into a peculiar sensation that was as comforting as it was startling. "Have patience, my daughter. When the time comes, you will know."

There was something more than mere confidence in those words, Allura realized. The transcendent wisdom of the dead. She couldn't ask about it. Yet she couldn't stop herself. "Will the time come... soon?"

Alfor smiled, and his image vanished.

* * *

><p>Another day, another alarm, another occasion for the team to drop everything and sprint to the control room. The commander of the Voltron Force found himself uncharacteristically annoyed by the interruption as they rushed in; he'd been thrashing Pidge at Go for the first time in weeks.<p>

_Maybe we should just play in here next time._

Coran was typing furiously, with Swiss sitting on one of the panels watching every move with her glowing golden eyes. "False alarm," the old man yelled over the still-howling sirens. "It's not an attack, just an incoming distress call."

Nodding, Keith took a position behind him anyway. "Why would someone direct a distress call here?"

"They didn't; it's a general alert, goes out to a quantity of local units, and Alliance presence in the Denubian is scattered enough that we're considered 'local' for much of the galaxy." With a scowl, Coran finally managed to silence the alarms. "Still finding new system glitches every day... anyway, judging from transit time and direction, this seems to be sourced on the Outer Rim."

While he certainly hadn't memorized the star maps, Keith knew perfectly well where Arus was situated in comparison to the rest of the Denubian, and arched an eyebrow. "You weren't kidding about having an odd interpretation of 'local'. May as well give it to us since it got here, though."

"Of course. The signal is coming in over a general Alliance frequency. The encryption is in our database, but it's very old..." The advisor frowned, typing in a few new commands. "Text only, coming in under the signature of a Colonel Ixli. Still decrypting." While one hand raced over the panels his other tightened on his cane. A nervous reflex, one the team recognized by now.

Keith was feeling it too; he didn't know what such an old code might mean, but he doubted the implications were good. "Can you trace it?"

"Working on it." Something beeped. "Decryption complete. Yes. General alert request for aid from Kaasen IV."

Kaasen IV. He knew that name, but the exact relevance was eluding him... _wait. No_. Realization hit hard, and he glanced back at his team to see that their smallest pilot had gone deathly pale. "Full report?" he asked, perhaps too quickly.

"It's very brief. A Drule fleet is inbound and the Alliance's primary outpost is out of commission, with a robeast on the ground. The message is tagged as Code Gray."

The commander nodded his understanding. Code Gray indicated that interstellar comms were expected to fail shortly; such reports rarely had time for details. "Any force estimates?"

"Only that the fleet was of irregular composition—several unknown craft sighted. Though if their identification codes are as out of date as their encryption, that may not mean much."

"They probably are," Pidge said quietly.

Coran shot him only a brief glance, still focused on the monitors. "Oh, you're familiar with the planet?"

"Local name is Balto. Most of the people don't even know they're part of the Alliance, not much point in keeping shiny up-to-date equipment."

"Ah! Balto, yes, I do know that name..." Coran hesitated. Looked at the screen. Looked at Pidge. And suddenly the reality seemed to sink in. "...The, ah. The signal originated about twenty minutes ago, and the defensive emplacements were holding all forces off the ground at the time." His tone was kindly, hopeful.

The young pilot stared right through him, focused on the screens. "At the time."

"...Yes." The advisor shot him an apologetic look. "As I said, the message was short. No estimates on how long they might last."

"Right. But it doesn't make any sense." Pidge kept staring blankly at the main monitor, as if the sheer _illogic_ of the situation put it beyond his comprehension. "Balto is a peaceful planet if you're not on the ground, and it certainly doesn't have any tactical significance, why would it be a target?"

Keith fielded the question only because the little pilot seemed to be pleading for an answer, for someone to make sense of things for him. "Balto must offer _something_ to the Alliance."

"Yeah. Mining rights on the moon. Big on germanium and rhenium." Keith knew the elements to be critical components in skip drives, but Hunk was the only other person in the room who seemed to grasp the significance. Pidge didn't notice he'd lost them. "Even if that were enough reason to attack, they're not attacking the moon_, _wouldn't the signal have mentioned it?"

Very true.

The commander found himself thinking of the Rift War. Each kingdom had its own combat tendencies, of course, and the Ninth had barely participated in that conflict. But it hadn't been uncommon for a few kingdoms to simply pick out an undefended planet that wasn't hurting anyone and raze it to set an example. The Fourth had been particularly egregious with the tactic...

Which was, ultimately, why they had their Red Lion pilot now.

He looked around at the others. Lance looked almost as pale as Pidge; his thoughts were probably tracking in the same direction. Hunk was watching his friend rather than the monitors, while Allura had her hands over her mouth and was trying very hard to not let them notice she was biting her nails.

_Okay. Know what? There's no need to stand around here panicking. We can do something about this._ "Well." Keith turned to Black Lion's chute. "Let's go find out what's up, then... and put a stop to it. To the li—"

"—Commander, are you mad?"

Blink. Had someone just interrupted his deployment order? That had never happened before. Even stranger when he realized who'd done it. "Coran?" He walked to the black door and frowned as its motion sensors failed to activate; it had been locked from the console. "Come on, open the chutes, we've got to go!"

"I'm afraid you can't."

"What? Why not?" Keith glared at him, pale eyes meeting gold; out of the corner of his vision he saw Hunk put a hand on Pidge's shoulder, as if worrying that the small pilot might do something rash. Though really, Pidge didn't look like he was interested in jumping anyone; his eyes were still fixed on the monitors, though he must have read the message a dozen times already.

"Lieutenant, _please_." Coran's tone remained as respectful as ever, but Keith noted the use of his Alliance rank and most certainly understood its significance. He may be commander of the Voltron Force, but his enlistment status was technically rather low. "I must remind you that Voltron is the defender of Arus, and Arus remains under near-constant attack. Are you going to abandon that duty? Your primary mission?"

"We're not abandoning anything! But—"

"—Besides." The advisor's hawklike features softened, slightly. "Balto is nearly twenty hours away, even under the fastest interstellar travel methods available to the Alliance. Doom's attacks are swift and brutal... it's incredibly unlikely you would make it in time to be of any help."

Keith frowned. Swift and brutal, yes, but a planet was a big place. "How long was Arus under bombardment when Zarkon attacked?"

"About two days..." Coran paused, seeing where this was going. "But that was an extraordinary circumstance, the attacking forces were under orders to burn everything to the ground, that is _not_ a regular tactic of the Ninth Kingdom."

"Not a regular tactic. But it's been known to happen!"

"Lieutenant—"

"—Enough, Coran. Keith's right."

Everyone turned to the blue-suited figure who had, up until that moment, been hanging a bit behind the rest of the team; Allura was now standing in front of Blue's chute, arms crossed. Her expression was calm now, but her gaze was locked on the old man in a way that made Keith a little uneasy, and he wasn't even the target. As if those soft sky-blue eyes might turn to pure ice in a moment.

"Princess, you of all people must understand. If Voltron leaves Arus, where does that leave our people if Zarkon strikes again? All we would have left are the castle defenses."

"That's not entirely true. We've been fortifying the settlements. And no matter what, we won't sacrifice another world for our sake, not when they're asking for our help." Allura's voice was firm. "I don't know what exactly my father intended to do with Voltron, but he believed the project would be a benefit to the Alliance as a whole. We're going, because if it's in our power to save any world from being burned to the ground like Arus was, we _must_ try no matter how slim the chances..." She looked at Pidge. "And because we protect our own."

He said nothing, but the gratitude surging through his eyes was unmistakable.

"Princess..." The advisor's jaw worked for a few moments, seeking arguments, not finding them. He was in charge here. Keith was sharply aware of that, remembering Allura's explanation of Arusian politics, wondering if this might be where the baronet finally put his foot down.

Then, bowing his head, Coran took a step back. "Perhaps you're right. Go ahead." He typed in a command and a hydraulic hiss echoed around them, the doors unlocking again. "Please, be careful... and good luck."

Answering nods from the team; Keith saluted to cover his sigh of relief. "All right. Now then... to the lions!"

A yell from behind him. "Hey, mouse patrol, all aboard that's goin' aboard!"

Swiss gave an indignant chitter and bounded off the consoles, clinging to Hunk's sleeve as he ran to Yellow's chute, and they were gone.

* * *

><p>As Yellow Lion came to life around him, a new realization hit Hunk with all the sudden savagery of two crush cars meeting head-on. He didn't want to have to bring it up, but it was critical, and they would all notice it in a matter of minutes anyway. No sense wasting any time.<p>

"Guys, I hate to be the practical one here, but we don't have a navigator."

"Oh hells," Lance muttered. "Well _that's_ gonna be a problem, now isn't it?"

Keith's voice broke in, as thoroughly unrattled as ever. "No problem at all. We can contact the Denubian clearinghouse." Each galaxy with an Alliance presence maintained a navigation center, where ships without their own navigators for any reason could call in and request a course. "Just tell them what kind of warp tech we're running and... oh, _damn_." Suddenly he sounded a lot more rattled.

"Yep." The team's second gave one of his classic _I-hate-it-when-I'm-right_ sighs. "That is definitely going to be a problem."

Swiss squeaked.

Hunk bit back the burst of swearing he'd wanted to let out and looked at the mouse. They'd aided the construction of the lions, surely she had to know something, didn't she? "Okay, Swiss Miss, if you've got anything to show me this would be a good time. Tell me there's a way for these kitties to go rock-hopping."

"Skriikk." She trotted across his consoles and pressed a button near one of the side monitors, bringing up a star chart; Arus was represented as a glowing white dot in a sea of gray specs. "Skwii-skwik shrikik."

"No idea what you just said..."

"Skwee." Words came up on another monitor. **Map is there. Using it your problem**.

_Thanks for the encouragement_. Shrug. "Somethin's better than nothin', girl, so thanks for that!" He opened comms again. "Guys, third auxiliary monitor to the lower left, hit the button with the star on it. Brings up charts, but I'm not seeing any way—or any_where_—to get the coordinates."

Silence for a time as the others presumably checked up on this, then Pidge broke in. "It's... oh, _wow_... we don't need coordinates, they're programmed right into the chart, just project the map to your main touchscreen and you can pick the destination. No waypoints, which means it's... it's gotta be a straight point-to-point system, do you guys have any idea how rare that is? I've never seen one that works over more than about a hundred light years, but this one seems to think it can get us anywhere in the galaxy, and I bet it's right, this is a whole new level of—"

"—Pidge." Allura's voice was gentle as she broke in. "You're rambling."

"Huh? Oh, sorry, it's just this is seriously tech that doesn't exist, and we are totally going to have to run about a hundred scans on it when we get back, because the Alliance doesn't even..."

Hunk sighed, shook his head, opened a channel to the princess. "Just let him rant."

"Is he going to be okay? I mean, will he be able to keep it together for this?" She sounded almost as worried as he felt.

Good question. He wasn't sure he had an answer for it. But then, he knew there was only one valid answer. "Don't worry, Princess. He'll pull it together once things get hot, he always does."

She made a vague noise of acknowledgment, closed the link. Something told Hunk he hadn't reassured her all that much.

As usual, the lions assembled in front of the castle. Green Lion was pacing in a tight circle as Black looked on; Hunk was certain there was a bemused look on the lead machine's regal face. "Come on, come on, let's try this out!" Pidge half-whined as the others approached. "It's gonna be awesome!"

_Does he really think he's fooling anyone? Doesn't matter. Play along._

Red Lion's den was furthest from the castle, so Lance was the last to join formation. "I'm with the kid, let's get this done." There was a dark intensity in his voice, even more than his usual enthusiasm for killing Drules. No need to ask what that was about.

"Right." Black Lion stepped up in front of the others, staring into the sky. "Pidge, it's your planet. Send us the location."

A brief pause, then the star chart lit up; a second planet was glowing white, right along the edge of the galaxy. Hunk looked at it for a minute. _So... that's where Balto is_. He'd seen images of his little buddy's homeworld, of course, but never on a star chart. It looked so... distant, alone... he wondered, briefly, if any other Alliance forces were trying to move in response to the distress call.

Somehow, based on all he'd heard, he doubted it.

"Destination locked." Black took a few more steps forward; Keith sounded tentative, not quite certain how to deal with this. He was used to ordering skip drive jumps, after all. Not commanding... whatever it was the lions had on board. "Everyone in formation, and launch!"

Hunk fell in beside Green Lion, hit the confirmation button on the touchscreen, and proceeded to leave his stomach behind on Arus.

"Dude!"

"Whoa."

"Holy hells, what just...?"

The lions kicked into the sky with a round of furious roars, closing ranks on their own; not only had Hunk not done anything else with the controls, he wasn't even _touching_ them. He could see a brilliant green aura wrapping around the lion next to him before golden light gathered around Yellow, pouring through the lion's eyes to wash out the cockpit. He squinted against the glow, but it faded quickly—the glass was darkening, blocking everything out.

A barely perceptible jolt, and all sensation of movement ceased.

"...Okay then." Lance sounded a bit breathless. "That was fun."

"Beats intergalactic jumps."

"Is there anything that wouldn't beat an intergalactic jump?"

"Crashing into a star and dying. Maybe."

"I've never been on an intergalactic jump..."

Three pilots answered Allura at once; Pidge was absent from the comms. "Don't complain!"

"I'll take your word for it."

* * *

><p>Transit was going smoothly, probably. Maybe. Potentially. Hell, he wouldn't have noticed if Green Lion were doing back flips in extradimensional space at this point...<p>

_It just doesn't make sense._

_Doesn't make sense at all._

_Doesn't make the slightest tiny bit of sense._

The words cycled through his mind like a mantra as Pidge stared at the emptiness on Green's viewscreens. Balto, under attack, really? It was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard of. Thinking about it was not making it any less ridiculous.

He should stop thinking about it.

_Yeah, right._

Coran had mentioned the defensive emplacements holding out. Which was amusing, because Pidge hadn't even known his planet _had_ such defenses. The Alliance did a damned good job of masking their presence on that xenophobic world... at the request of the people, of course. One of the very few things Tenra and Sryka could agree on.

He wondered if they were regretting it now.

_You can't dwell on this the whole trip, Pidge. No matter what you're flying into, you do NOT want to get there a nervous wreck. Now cut it out. Do something productive._

Sighing, he started doing a status check, and froze at what he saw.

"Um. Guys, we're _accelerating_."

"Yeah, so?" Lance asked. "That's good, right? We'll get there faster."

"Sure. It's good. It's also theoretically impossible to gain momentum while in extradimensional space... but yes, it's good."

A low whistle from Hunk. "We're not just accelerating, we're accelerating _fast_. Princess, how many more laws of physics are these things gonna break before all's said and done?"

There was a long pause before Allura answered. "I... don't know, to be honest. I wasn't close to the technical aspects of the project, you know, but I don't remember any mention of Voltron's interstellar systems." Another pause. "Wait, no. Father did mention once that he was glad he wouldn't have to install any skip drives. But Arus has been using skip drives for a century; this technology must not be ours."

Keith's voice broke in. "Well, what else can you tell us about Voltron's legend? Anything? Alliance xenomythology really only covers the barest details. Who could possibly have built something like this in the first place? This is thousands of years old, and it's beyond everything we can even imagine."

"I don't know much more about the legend," the princess answered apologetically. "According to Drule tradition, Voltron's creators were annihilated after Sarga shattered him, but that's just a footnote to the stories. Nothing about who those creators were, or even why they built a knight to face down the First Empire to begin with."

"Well that's convenient." Lance sounded frustrated. Pidge had a feeling the frustration had very little to do with actually learning about Voltron's origins. "So they've got a giant robot demigod making a mess of them, their goddess destroys it, they wreck the people responsible for the robot. Classic self-affirming myth with no basis in reality. Except for the part where your father d_ug the damn robot up_. Someone had to have built it!"

The princess kept her cool, maybe realizing he wasn't trying to take things out on her, maybe just used to Lance being Lance. "The First Empire had many enemies. As to what civilization could've had the power? It's impossible to say. The Ninth Kingdom, weak as it is, has been the primary power in the Denubian pretty much throughout recorded history..."

"Wait, wait." Now it was Hunk's turn to interrupt, sounding confused. "The Ninth is _weak?"_

"Hawkins mentioned that," Keith pointed out. "During our initial briefing, remember? The Ninth Kingdom is traditionally the weakest in the Supremacy. Though," he sounded thoughtful, "none of my political science classes ever explained why that might be. Doesn't seem to make a lot of sense when you consider there's no real competition in the Denubian, not even another Drule kingdom."

Allura gave a rather un-princesslike snort. "Oh, that's easy enough. It's because of Voltron."

Pause. "I'm not getting the joke."

"I'm not joking. The legends are clear, and Father found confirmation in Voltron's own databanks when he started the project. The knight was _very_ effective when it was deployed. It went from planet to planet, destroying all military and industrial resources, then moving on. The First Empire's presence in the Denubian was almost eradicated. Even after Voltron was defeated, as best we can tell, the Drules weren't able to reclaim many of those worlds—all the infrastructure was gone, and most of the population died out before relief forces could get there."

"Voltron the Destroyer," Pidge murmured. Everything suddenly made sense... everything except why the hell Balto had been dragged into this battle, of course, and he shook his head to clear it. Too late. He cast about in his head for another question, another diversion. Something that wasn't about the planet they were headed for at impossible speeds. "But that was how many thousand years ago, and the Ninth is _still_ reeling? Doesn't seem logical."

"Sarga," Keith whispered. His tone seemed to indicate everything was suddenly making sense to him, too. "The Ninth has a long and glorious tradition of lunatics on the throne; Zarkon's quite the outlier. And their patron is a goddess of chaos when the rest of the Supremacy favors gods of order. If it hadn't been for Voltron, the Ninth would be serving order too... but her influence... saved them, but also crippled them?"

"That was Father's theory," Allura agreed.

"Uh, okay, guys? Loving story time here and all, but there's just one little problem with all this theorizing." Lance's face appeared on the monitors, frowning. "That would mean SARGA IS ACTUALLY A THING."

Pidge blinked. He hadn't been aware there was any debate over whether Sarga was actually a thing. "Yeah, and?"

"So you're telling me the Drules are doing the religion thing right and we _know_ it and we're just what, fighting them for kicks? Because hell is lovely this time of year? Come on. No way."

_There he goes with the hells fixation again_. Truthfully, Pidge wasn't quite sure what Lance was getting all grouchy about, but then... a few of those military history classes he hadn't skipped had been on religious wars, hadn't they? Right. Humans considered this stuff very important.

He might've said something fairly tactless, but Keith jumped in first. "Relax, Lance. The Alliance has documented proof of the existence of several Drule gods—though Sarga isn't one of them. We also have proof of a few hundred deities belonging to various Alliance races. Including the one we're driving right now, in case you'd forgotten. They're real beings, no doubt about it, but are they gods in the metaphysical sense? That's a whole different question."

Silence.

Hunk broke it. "Chief... let's not talk metaphysics now, huh? Or better, let's not talk metaphysics ever? We're inbound, anyway."

_We're what?_ Pidge's eyes widened as he returned his attention to his instruments. The big guy was right; they were on the final approach to Balto, to the extent that 'final approach' meant anything going at several thousand light years per hour. He typed in a few commands and Green Lion's monitors displayed what he wanted; the entire trip had taken slightly over two hours.

_That's impossible_.

An alarm sounded; return to reality was imminent. Pidge closed his eyes for a few moments, steadying himself as Green Lion smoothly breached the dimensional barriers, focusing on the battle to come. But at the same time, he couldn't help thinking about what they'd just learned... what this knight had been created for didn't sound all that noble, really. Yet here they were.

It was just like Keith had told Yurak, months ago. Voltron the Destroyer was no more.

Voltron the Defender had arrived.

* * *

><p>"Sir! We have inbound contacts. Five ships, about corvette-sized, but the energy readings... oh. Oh, no. Sir, we have a problem!"<p>

"Stop stalling and give it to me, Grayl."

"The lions have arrived!"

_The lions have WHAT?_

For a moment, Lotor regretted demanding answers so quickly, hunching over at his command console and staring at the instruments as his aide sent him the scans. The readings were unmistakable, but at the same time, the _couldn't_ say what they said so clearly. To be here so quickly was impossible. No known method of interstellar travel could account for it.

But what was Voltron, if not unknown?

"Sir, the lions are on a trajectory for the planet. If they've noticed our presence they seem to be ignoring us."

"Well by all means don't get their attention." If Voltron tried to attack the Enyos, it would learn the hard way how volatile the ships were. A massive crater along the equator, visible without magnification from space, marked where the Baltans had learned the same thing. Not that the lesson had accomplished much—weak as they were, the orbital emplacements had only seemed to double their ferocity after the first Enyo went down, crater or not.

There were no orbital emplacements left now, of course. But even then, those on the ground had attacked the ships as they began drilling into the planet's crust. A futile gesture, yet... they still fought, as though their furious spirit could make up for their lack of weaponry.

Lotor wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Were they trapped animals, lashing out, unable to recognize and accept the inevitable? Or were they noble warriors fighting to their dying breath, defeated and yet unbroken?

Matters were so complex outside of the classroom. No black and white here; even honor, which had once seemed like such a clear and sharp blade, was written in shades of gray. The only certainty he could have about the Baltans was that by the end of the day, they would all be dead...

He still wasn't sure how he felt about that, either.


	5. Doomsday

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Chapter 4: Doomsday<p>

* * *

><p>Balto was a mess. Keith didn't need to ask for any scans to see that.<p>

The first thing he noticed about the planet was a crater, stretching what had to be at least a hundred miles across the surface at the middle of the planet. Something—perhaps the fact that the ground was still glowing faintly—told him that wasn't one of Balto's normal geographic features. He could see what looked like the edges of a second, larger crater poking around the southern pole, and really didn't want to go in for a closer look.

Aside from those two highly disturbing signs, his sensors were detecting smaller impact zones, barely visible from where Black Lion hovered, but seeming to be scattered in a wide but regular pattern over the planet. _Odd_...

"Keith, I've got the Drule fleet on sensors. _Admiral Lionbane_ and its support ships. They're well outside of the atmosphere, holding pattern, no bombardment." Allura sounded puzzled, and rightly so. Just another oddity. If the fleet wasn't participating in the attack, what the hell was? Surely they couldn't have dropped that many robeasts? No, it wasn't possible. They wouldn't even spend the resources to deploy such numbers on Arus.

So what was going on here?

No matter. _Something_ was obviously happening on Balto's surface, and if the fleet wasn't the threat, it could be safely ignored for now. "Let's keep our priorities straight. Monitor the situation, but nobody bother them unless they move first." He opened his comms, dialing in to a general Alliance frequency and hoping it wasn't too late. "Balto garrison, do you read? This is Commander Kogane of the Voltron Force. Anyone there?"

A wave of relief washed over him as a feathery orange alien in Alliance uniform appeared on his comm screen. He identified it as a Moriki, an avian race also native to the Denubian. When the officer spoke, his voice was cloaked by static and exhaustion, but audible enough. "We copy, Commander Kogane. Colonel Ixli here."

"Can you give us a status report? Nothing we've observed so far makes any sense."

"Hmph. A report won't make it make any more sense." Ixli clicked his beak a couple of times, then shook his head. "The Drule fleet jumped in almost three hours ago. Dropped a robeast on Kurala—the capital, sorry—and eliminated the main Alliance command center within a matter of minutes. They don't seem to be aware of our auxiliary headquarters, so we transmitted a distress call, which I trust is why you're here."

"Right."

"Our defensive fleet has been in the Troika system for weeks; the Drule fighters knocked out all of our fixed emplacements in the first hour. I believe the robeast is still on the ground, but we've lost sensor coverage on the capital so I can't be certain..." A pause. "Along with the fighters, about two dozen large vessels of unknown model were deployed. One was destroyed in high atmosphere, and another nearly on the ground. Hence the two lovely craters you've probably detected."

Keith blinked. _Flying bombs of some sort?_ He'd never heard of such a thing, or at least, not on such a scale. "Where did the rest of them go?"

"Unknown. They went below radar. Unconfirmed reports say that several were seen plowing straight into the surface, but one would think there would be more craters in that case."

"One would think," Keith agreed quietly, typing a few commands in. Black Lion's computers responded, bringing up the odd impact pattern he'd detected earlier, finding that the two craters seemed to fit perfectly into the arrangement. "No contact from the attackers?"

"Nothing. Brigadier Savrik at Main HQ attempted to hail them with no response; we thought it might be best to keep silent here. Auxiliary HQ is a logistics post, not armed or fortified, and we're packed with refugees right now. If they turn that robeast on us..."

Nod. "Understood."

A private channel crackled open. "Keith, if we're going to make a move we need to do it now." Pidge was audibly struggling to stay composed, and it lent his voice an eerie toneless quality. "I'm scanning a couple of those impact points, and the mantle's destabilizing around them. At this rate, it's a matter of hours at best before the whole planetary crust is breaking up."

_Right_. If_ we're going to make a move._ He said it as if he thought there were any other possibility. "What can we do?"

"Anyone on the surface is in danger from the seismic forces; the closer they are to the impact points, the worse it gets." If anything the little pilot's voice was getting more distant. Detached. Possibly the best option under the circumstances, but hearing it still made him cringe. "Moving away from the impact zones will lessen the threat. Getting people off the ground until things settle down would be the best option."

"Got it." Keith hit his comms again. "Colonel Ixli, do you have any ships left intact? Anything at all?"

The Moriki's response was immediate. "Oh, our ships are fine, Commander Kogane. Nothing but unarmed cargo shuttles here. No sense sending _them_ up." He sounded bitter; Keith could hardly blame him for that. His people had never had a chance... "If you've need of some luggage hauled we're all ears."

"Pretty much what it comes down to. I'm sending you a map of the entry pattern of those unknown vessels; we're picking up major earthquakes radiating out from the impact zones. Start an evacuation, prioritizing these sites."

Pause. "I beg your pardon, Commander, but—"

"—I know, Colonel. Trust me, I know." It was horribly inadequate. "But cutting our losses might be the best we can do right now. Get everyone you possibly can off the surface."

A squawk that he suspected was a sigh. "Yes, you're correct, I'll issue the orders. Ixli out."

Lance spoke up as soon as the transmission from the planet cut out. "Chief, I've got the robeast on sensors." An icon lit on his screens, overlaying a crimson zone on the planet where, if he looked closely, a plume of thick smoke was just barely visible without magnification. Zooming in he could see the beast, an ugly if unspectacular mass of spikes and sinew. "Trying to scan for other life signs, but the smoke and fire's in the way. Let's just go..." A pause, then he cleared his throat. "My _official_ recommendation as your second-in-command is, let's just go kick its ass on principle."

Keith nodded; his friend's tone made it clear he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Which was just as well, since his commander had no intention of _giving_ no as an answer. "Best suggestion I've heard all day. Let's move!"

* * *

><p><em>And so the madness comes to an end<em>.

They knew. They all knew. Nobody could place where the knowledge had started, but it had spread even more swiftly than the earthquakes engulfing their planet. Tenra psychically broadcasting what they'd picked up, whispering it to Sryka in the streets. The old divisions were gone. Burned away.

If there was anything the two races of Balto hated more than each other, it was the idea of _outsiders_ interfering with their insular world.

A dark-haired Tenra in Alliance uniform moved through the outskirts of the crumbling capital, keeping a sharp eye on the monster that had been unleashed against the Fortress. The command center had been destroyed in short order, and how could it not be? Nothing there could hope to repel such an attack. No one would ever dream Balto might be attacked from the stars, least of all the Baltans themselves.

Still, the thing Jyari found most surprising was that the apocalypse would not come at their own hands.

The beast was just wandering the ruins of Kurala now, aimless in its movements; she didn't even need her psychic abilities to understand that the creature was terribly confused. Apparently its masters hadn't given it much instruction beyond destroying the command center. It was walking with a noticeable limp, though...

Oh yes, the people of Kurala had fought back. A few of them were still moving through the burning streets, just as she was, bearing whatever weapons they could find and taking whatever shots presented themselves. For her own part, Jyari was still carrying the plasma rifle she'd scavenged from one of the broken supply posts around the Fortress, though its power core had long since been drained.

_Ought to track down another one, really_. Easier said than done.

A pair of Sryka darted out of a collapsed building, each holding two sparking and burning objects; Jyari wasn't about to speculate on their composition. She'd learned more about improvised explosives in the last two hours than in two years of Alliance contingency training. The common thread seemed to be that anything could explode if you only tried hard enough.

Focusing carefully, she sent out a psychic wave. Not an attack; the beast certainly wasn't making eye contact with her, and if it _had_ been, she rather doubted she'd be inclined to attempt a psychic assault rather than running in the opposite direction. But the pulse worked, a momentary distraction, just enough to cause the monster to miss the incoming attackers until it was too late.

The explosions flared brief but bright, engulfing the robeast's already-damaged leg in flame, and it gave a shriek of fury as it knelt to try to smash the insolent attackers into the pavement. One of the Sryka escaped, clambering over a pile of wrecked stone and vanishing. The other did not... Jyari turned away.

Spite had always been the greatest planetary resource of Balto, after all. Only fitting that the resource be paid to their conquerors in full. As if to punctuate her dark thoughts, the robeast's roar echoed over the flames...

_Wait. That wasn't the robeast_.

Something huge, green and silver and glinting ominously in the firelight, dropped onto the empty street and let out another earthshaking roar. The monstrosity turned to face the green thing and was rewarded with a steady stream of emerald plasma scorching its face. _What in the...?_ Jyari frowned. The shape was resolving itself as it charged, flicking blades from its lashing tail at the beast, but it wasn't the green thing's form that gave her her answers.

It felt so familiar...

Green Lion.

_Pidge._

Her eyes widened. _No._ He couldn't be here. He couldn't possibly—he _mustn't_ be here. Yet there was no mistaking it. All his attempts to explain exactly what a lion _was_ had come up quite short in their letters, but the armored beast could be nothing else.

It was all so clear now...

Lions were creatures of majesty. And they would grace this world so briefly, as angels appearing to mortals in their death throes.

Something blue and silver shot overhead, built similar to its green companion. Blue Lion. It was unleashing a stream of water from its jaws, quenching some of the flames, but it was a token gesture at best. There was too much fire, too much destruction. And now three other lions were descending, attacking the monster, trying valiantly to save a world that they couldn't know was already beyond hope.

_You mustn't be here, Pidge. Escape. Survive!_

Of course he couldn't hear her. Of course he wouldn't flee even if he could.

She had to move. Get off the streets. It wasn't fear for her own life; that concept was long gone. But if Pidge saw her... a small part of her was screaming to run _to_ him, not away. She could be saved, he would do anything in his power, but that would be a distraction he could ill afford, wouldn't it? _He_ had to make it out of this. That was the important part.

Besides, on a purely practical level, there was an awful lot of fire between herself and the lion.

And suddenly a glow was gathering around the lions, a cloak of crackling silver energy drawing them together. Jyari's violet eyes widened, watching. _This must be_... they were changing, limbs drawing in, merging into a single humanoid figure. Even at this distance she could feel a flicker of psychic energy moving through the knight.

She wasn't the only one. A flicker of movement caught her eye from the left, three Tenra poking their heads out of a makeshift shelter in the debris, gazing wide-eyed as Voltron came to rest on the street. Facing down the robeast, which pulled up short for a moment. Just a moment. It howled then, limping forward, finally fighting an equal, but still bearing the scars of Balto's last defiant breaths.

The three other watchers caught sight of Jyari, beckoned her into their little fortress, and she ran over, accepting the offer. There was no need to observe the battle. Voltron would prevail, without doubt.

And it would not be enough.

* * *

><p>Something had changed...<p>

Sven had gone back to his sullen but generally cooperative self once the orders for water therapy came through, which Kylos considered a great relief. For his own sake, as much as his patient's, though that was not a proper thought to have according to the Ebbian medical oaths. He wasn't going to allow himself to feel too guilty over the matter. After all, healing was made far more difficult if doctor and patient were at each others' throats.

Pragmatism.

But this evening went well beyond the normal cessation of hostilities. They were sitting by the river, watching the stars, and Sven... was _smiling_. And _talking_. Without being coaxed, baited, or pleaded with. It was exceptionally odd.

He'd asked about what sort of warp technology Ebb used. Kylos knew about as much about Ebbian warp tech as he knew about human macroeconomic theory, which was to say absolutely nothing, but he'd promised to research it for another day. This patient was an interesting one, all right... the question had gotten them onto the subject of navigation.

"Charting for skip drives is complicated because it builds on itself," Sven was explaining, gazing into the night sky. "Get one calculation wrong, it throws off every new calculation after that, and you might not hit a fatal error until several skips later." Pause. "If you're lucky you won't hit one at all, of course... the longer the route, the greater the risk."

_Intriguing_. "And you have to map every skip before you can even start moving?"

"Not necessarily. But it's highly, highly recommended." Frown. "Once you've started to skip, you can't just _stop_. It requires a cooldown period. So if you begin an incomplete course and something goes wrong..." Dark eyes flicked over to him. "The horror story they gave us in NAV 101 was about an Alliance battleship, the _Striking Iron_. During the War of the Five Suns, the ship was ordered to reinforce a newly-captured planet, and their commander decided time was of the essence so they should plot skips as they went." Another, deeper frown. "Halfway to their destination the ship's two navigators got drunk, got in a fight, and killed each other. Ship ripped itself apart when it hit the end of its plotted course, the planet was lost, and the incident will live forever in Academy textbooks."

Kylos gawked. "...Surely that is not a common occurrence? Crewmates killing each other!"

Laughter. "Not common, but you shouldn't put much past navigators. I suspect they chose that incident and not a more innocent malfunction to remind us to behave ourselves, also..." He gave a crooked smile. "We're a crazy breed."

_Indeed?_ Crazy wasn't really the word the sanahar would have used; Sven was stubborn and enigmatic, but he at least usually came across as sane. Though there was a saying on Ebb: _sanity is in the eye of the beholder_. Perhaps the humans had their own definition.

What Kylos was picking up from this discussion, in any case, was the importance of careful precision to his patient's line of work. And perhaps more importantly, the pressure put on those pursuing such a path. It might help to explain his stubbornness, his fierce pride and insistence on being so hard on himself for being here... it was surely a component, at least. So despite the fact that he had little to no grasp of the science involved, he wanted to keep this discussion going.

He was finally learning something.

"It seems like navigation is quite an exacting profession. What draws people to it?"

"Insanity." Sven chuckled when the answer earned him an odd stare. "I'm not joking as much as I could be. Most who go into navigation are very impressed with, shall we say, the power of their tools. The instructors warn against getting arrogant, but it usually doesn't stick..." He shifted a bit on the riverbank, putting his hands behind his head, and a vaguely suspicious note entered his tone. "But I don't think you're asking why _most_ people are drawn to it, are you?"

Okay, so he was being talkative and cooperative. He was still himself. Kylos sighed. "I suppose not, though I do find the subject fascinating. You speak as if you had different reasons."

"I've always been very good at math." He shrugged, and then winced a little; that particular motion was still rather ill-advised. "My parents wanted me to go into some form of piloting discipline—family tradition. So navigation seemed to be the logical choice."

He's glossed over the family tradition aspect quickly, a little too quickly, with the faintest flicker of annoyance. Kylos hesitated a minute before touching on that; his own family's neurosurgery tradition sprang to mind again. "It wasn't your first choice of profession, I'm gathering."

A momentary hesitation, the black ice of Sven's gaze settling on him. Then his patient smiled. "I'm in a good mood, Kylos. Let's not ruin it, shall we?"

Limits. Limits were critical. In time, the limits would be extended, but he knew far too well that the process with this human couldn't be rushed. "Of course."

* * *

><p>The battle had been a foregone conclusion, really. Even a weak, stupid robeast could have shattered the Alliance's outpost on this backwater, so a weak, stupid robeast was precisely what Lotor had brought with him. Expendable. After all, the mission circumstances were quite delicate, and extracting the monster before the planet's destruction might not be an option. The choice would be made on the battlefield.<p>

Might have been a harder decision if the monster had acquitted itself a bit better. But no, when set upon by a horde of infuriated Baltans with light weapons and homemade bombs, the damned thing had actually been injured. _Significantly_ injured. Hardly a performance to endear it to its commander.

If there had been any question left in the matter, Voltron erased it now; the battle on the monitors had been fierce but brief, and then the lion knight's sword cut its adversary cleanly in two.

"Sir, the robeast is down," Lirik reported as if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

Grayl spoke up before he could acknowledge the statement. "During the battle a fleet of Alliance Soyuz-class cargo ships launched from a point on the far side of the planet; they seem to be centering on the Enyo entry points. Should we intervene?"

The prince leaned back in the command chair and frowned. Cargo ships? What did the Alliance expect to do with those? For that matter, where had they come from when the command center was long since destroyed... "What's the status of the Enyos?"

A pause as Lirik looked that up, fingers dancing over the consoles. "Estimated fifteen minutes until reaching the core. Detonation will be immediate." She was running what looked like some sort of modeling program, turning back to fix faintly glowing eyes on him when it finished. "Even if the ships that were deployed have some way of destroying the Enyos, they've bored deep enough that it won't save the planet."

"Very well. Then ignore them."

His sergeant nodded an acknowledgment, then frowned as a new alert sounded. "Sir, Voltron is launching. Coming right for us."

So, the lion demon wanted a battle? He would have been so happy to oblige, but they weren't prepared for one. The fleet was no match for Voltron alone, and Lotor knew it. All of them knew it. "Prepare a jumpgate. Do as much damage as possible, but remember, we aren't here to fight. Our primary mission is complete, it's far too late for them to stop us... deploy monitor drones so that we'll have confirmation."

"Aye, sir. Activatin' the jump coils now." Snuff glanced back at Grayl. "Full reverse, spit the monitors out the sides so we don't hit 'em when we open fire, huh?"

A salute from the aide. "Drones deploying to the sides, away from the fleet's firing arcs. Voltron will be in weapons range in one minute. Two and a half minutes until the jumpgate is ready."

"All hands to battle stations then," Lotor ordered. "Fire at will." Two and a half minutes, plus a couple of minutes to get the fleet through the gate. They would be away from Balto long before the Enyos finished their work.

_Good_.

* * *

><p>"Keith, the <em>Admiral Lionbane<em> is charging its jump coils. Looks like they aren't up to a fight." Allura had been keeping an eye on the fleet, as instructed, and once the robeast went down distracting the Drules in orbit had seemed like the wisest course. The shuttles frantically evacuating people from Balto's surface would be sitting ducks if so much as a fighter screen launched against them.

Lance snarled before Keith could respond. "Who cares if they're up for a fight? Doesn't look like the Baltans were up for a fight, look how that went. Let's _kill them anyway_. Draw Magma Pistols!"

"Yeah, what he said," Hunk agreed, though he sounded a bit concerned. Keith shared the sentiment, it should be Pidge doing the snarling. But at the same time, he knew perfectly well why Lance was taking this so hard, so personally, and he certainly wasn't going to tell him _not_ to.

Besides, it wasn't like Pidge was saying anything at all at this stage... he hadn't said a word since suggesting the evacuation, in fact. Though his solo assault on the robeast had left no question about where his thoughts were. There was the faintest hint of frenzied panic flowing through Voltron from Green Lion, and the left-hand gun was firing with reckless fury as the knight approached its targets.

Keith gave a quick mental tug as he pulled on Black Lion's controls, trying for calm, carefully guiding the two arms to concentrate on a single destroyer. They didn't have much time, but might be able to do some significant damage to the smaller ship if they only focused... "With me, you guys. Hunk, Allura, throw in whatever you've got."

"On it, chief."

"Understood."

The legs launched missiles, their elemental cannons not quite within range, scattering craters across the bow of the destroyer they'd sighted in on. Keith added Voltron's eye beams to the mix, punching into the deepest of the craters, lighting up a glowing patch of armor for the Magma Pistols to focus on. Red's followed quickly; Green's took a few shots to find its target, then poured fire on as well.

"We're not going to get it, it's retreating too fast," Allura reported. "Jumpgate's deployed, target will be through in twenty seconds."

"Twenty seconds?" Lance repeated, and the right-hand pistol doubled its fire. "Plenty of time, Princess. _Plenty_."

Voltron rocked from an impact, a pair of rifle slugs shattering across the left thigh. "Damage report?"

"All good," Hunk answered immediately. "Plenty of armor yet to give." Another tremor from another volley. "Uh, we shouldn't just stand around and keep takin' it, though. I know you guys wanna keep me and my little buddy busy with repairs, but let's be realistic here, huh?"

Drule warships were starting to vanish, the jumpgate had flared into existence and they were wasting no time with their retreat. Keith frowned. If they pushed ahead, they could probably take down the destroyer before it escaped. But that took them into the withering fire the dreadnought was laying down, and surely that wasn't the wisest course.

Maybe this wasn't a moment for wisdom...

Lance and Pidge seized on the initiative while he was considering, Voltron's arms tugging the rest of the robot forward. Not that any of the other pilots were really resisting. They surged forward, more weapons coming into range, lasers and elemental cannons blazing as the stricken destroyer tried desperately to flee.

It didn't make it.

Yellow Lion's sand cannon was the decisive blow, as it was so often; no ship could be fully hardened against the tiny, furious particles it unleashed. This time they blew through the breaches in the armor to shred the power core's containment field. The sand itself was swallowed up by the plasma, suddenly unleashed, rapidly expanding to consume the rest of the warship...

A brilliant flare and the destroyer was gone, as was the rest of the Drule fleet and their jumpgate. They'd vanished under the cover of the explosion. All that was left was a sense of grim satisfaction, they'd done some permanent damage after all... and an odd, almost anticlimactic silence as they realized Balto was still burning, and there was nothing left to fight.

"So..." Hunk was the first to break the silence. "What now, chief?"

"Let's get back to the surface," Keith ordered after only a moment's thought. "I know the lions aren't really suited for passengers, but we have to save as many people as we can." Unspoken was the obvious. Even the shuttle fleet wasn't going to make an appreciable dent in the casualties; whatever help the lions could give was even more miniscule. Insignificant, really.

Still. Saving even a single life was better than saving no lives at all... they started to move, closing in on the planet.

"No. Pull back."

It was Pidge's voice, and that fact startled him enough that he completely failed to follow the advice. "Pidge? What do you mean pull back? We've got to—"

"—I mean pull back." The young pilot's voice was hollow. "New readings. The core is destabilizing."

_What?_

Keith didn't have time to ask for confirmation. He barely had time to pull Voltron to a halt, just outside the planet's atmosphere. Then something flared within the center of the planet, something so powerful the light and flame could be seen surging up through the cracks in the doomed world's surface.

Balto shattered.


	6. Moment of Destruction

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Chapter 5: Moment of Destruction<p>

* * *

><p>Pidge did not see his world break.<p>

His eyes were open, fixed on the planet as it tore itself apart, but the images refused to anchor themselves in his mind. They flowed through him, piercing every part of him, branding his soul with the reality his thoughts could not comprehend.

He watched. But he did not see.

* * *

><p><em>Heart of alacrity!<em>

_All within you shatters._

_The winds scream a requiem, the forest burns to ash._

_The hearts are one, calling out to you._

_Use them, heart of alacrity!_

_Cast your pain to the winds, I will take it._

_All is not lost._

_But the darkness... is..._

* * *

><p>The memories wrenched Keith back.<p>

It was a miserable morning already, the vicious storm had kept him up for most of the night, and once he'd finally gotten to sleep it had been abruptly shattered an hour later. His uncle was shaking him, telling him they had to go, it was important, urgent. Herding him through the thunder and the pouring, driving rain.

He'd known before they told him. How, he couldn't say. But Keith would never forget the moment, because the kindly man in a general's uniform had knelt in front of him and put his hands on his shoulders and given him such a sad smile... and he knew. Blurted it out right there in fact, told the general his parents were dead when it should have been the man telling him.

And then he ran. Into the storm, not fearing it, because what else was there to fear? Not watching where he was going, because it didn't matter, all that mattered was running, _running_, trying to force the storm brewing inside of him out. Release the energy by action, because he wasn't going to scream. No, no. Children screamed. Keith refused to be a child.

Exhaustion set in, despite the rain, and he ran until he passed out... dreaming only of lightning flickering in the darkness.

* * *

><p>Lance was eight years old all over again.<p>

It had been such a calm night, the stars were so pretty, they always were, weren't they? But he shouldn't stay out here... the stars would be there again tomorrow night...

And suddenly these stars became different. They moved. They burned their way down to the ground, screaming with the fury of a thousand demons, punching into the ground and flinging his small body backwards.

Fire. Everything the stars touched became fire. And there was nowhere to go but the water, so that was where he ran... becoming consumed by cold, by pain, maybe freezing was just as bad as burning, maybe there was no way out after all... he couldn't scream, he didn't have the breath to, and all he could do was wait as the stars...

Stopped?

But that didn't help anything, not even when someone pulled him from the lake, wrapping him in something warm and promising safety. Because safety didn't matter. Only the charred remnants of the only world he'd ever known, the ash and flame that had once been his home... and now he finally did scream.

Something stung his arm, a brief jab. Banishing the flame, and bringing darkness.

* * *

><p>Allura felt what was happening, but she couldn't fight it.<p>

It was precisely because she could feel it, really. Somewhere, not too terribly far away, new ghosts were being born, too many ghosts, the spiritual energy unleashed by their birth was overwhelming her senses. It sounded so pretty to say it like that, so hopeful. But the birth of a ghost was the end of a life, and in this instant there was too much death, too much suffering...

She let the memories take her because it was better than the reality. Anything was better than this reality.

Even watching it all over again... the Castle of the Crown crumbling on the monitors. Slowly. It wasn't supposed to be slow, was it? The stone and spires should just collapse, surely all that firepower being unloaded onto the structure was too much for it to bear, yet it was standing, and Allura's terrified mind didn't want it to stand because she knew it couldn't stand for much longer. Just get it over with, because the waiting, the inevitability, that was far worse than death...

And then the Castle of the Elements shook, part of the ceiling caving in, a chunk of stone twice her size crashing down only inches away. The attack on this province had begun. And in that moment, when inevitability came so close, all her confidence as a spirit talker melted in an instant... Allura screamed. And she kept screaming until she could scream no more, hyperventilating on the floor of the castle, waiting.

Sooner or later, darkness finally fell.

* * *

><p>There were no shadows looming in Hunk's past.<p>

It would be wrong to say he'd never struggled, he'd never hurt. But all that he'd battled through was left in the past, the petty inconveniences that were simply part of life. He didn't dwell on such things, why waste his life that way? There was no crippling trauma behind him. No memories to seize command of his mind.

Yellow Lion's controls were dim. The robot had shut down but the link between the pilots was alive with fear and pain. He closed his eyes, focusing on that link, trying to distinguish between the other four. But it was no use. They were all overwhelmed, all united in agony. And he alone understood the reality, and the source.

_Pull through, you guys._ He didn't know if they could hear him. It didn't matter. _Pull through. I'm here, I've got you, I've got all of you_. It was racing through him, sourceless pain tearing through his chest, images he couldn't make sense of flashing before his eyes. It was all he could do to keep his focus on the link, but focus he did.

_Listen to me, you guys! No breaking on my watch!_

Everything seemed to double in intensity, and he gritted his teeth against the onslaught. Accepting it. Drawing in everything he could until merciful darkness claimed him at last.

* * *

><p>Ebb was terribly distant from Arus. It wasn't all that far from Balto.<p>

Sven had no way of knowing why today had been better. Why the gaping emptiness where his link to Blue Lion had been was soothed, if only marginally. But it _had_ improved for a few hours. He'd even let himself enjoy that fact, much to his Ebbian minder's shock.

That just made it worse when the momentary reprieve was lifted.

Something hit him. A searing pain lancing over his spine. A memory, every bit as real and vivid as when it had brought him to this planet in the first place...

He screamed and collapsed, falling unconscious into a very startled Kylos' arms.

* * *

><p><em>...Light returns.<em>

_The screams are silenced._

_All hearts remain in darkness._

_Am I alone?_

_No._

_This will not be the end._

* * *

><p>Silence.<p>

Nothing like this had ever happened before. The warriors were there, but unmoving. The breath was still in their bodies, yet they seemed lifeless. Was this what had happened to the lost one, the heart of serenity? Voltron still did not fully grasp the nature of his pilots, the nuances of his soul.

But he knew if he remained here he would die, and the warriors with him.

He had once been autonomous. Alone. Soulless, but capable of function. It had to still be within his power to act...

The lion knight's eyes glowed, surging with power. Struggling against his own systems, struggling against the vortex of death consuming the world before him, Voltron moved. Retreating. Pulling back until the chunks of molten rock streaking toward him became only harmless embers.

Far enough. They were safe.

He stilled again, resting. Waiting for the warriors to wake. All else was up to them.


	7. After the End

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Chapter 6: After the End<p>

_Long chapter is long._  
><em>It's been awhile since I said this, so, thanks for the reviews!<em>

* * *

><p>The jumpgate course they'd used to retreat from Balto had been short. There was no need to return to Korrinoth without confirming the mission's success, after all... and Lotor was in no particular hurry to get back there anyway. He still deeply resented this assignment, and the lion knight's arrival only made it sting worse.<p>

Exterminate some harmless animals, then flee a true challenge? Hardly what he'd been hoping for when he demanded to face Voltron.

Selfishly, he hoped the knight hadn't done anything foolish like land on the planet again. There would be no glory in destroying his nemesis like _that_. Of course, if he'd really wanted to prevent that he could've warned the humans what was coming. But he did have his limits. Personal glory and his own desires could never be allowed to overshadow the mission so thoroughly.

"Lirik, report."

She saluted, then looked at her screens. "We lost the _Vigilante_ at the jumpgate. Light damage to a few ships from proximity to the explosion. Seven of twelve deployed monitor drones are still transmitting, checking the feeds now." A pause. Lotor was certain he saw a brief shudder run through his aide as she pulled the recordings, and nodded in quiet satisfaction. "...The planet is gone, sir."

"And Voltron?"

"One drone has it in sight. No apparent damage from the planet's destruction."

It wouldn't be proper to be pleased with that news, so he wasn't. "Very well." He looked over the bridge crew. "I want all of you to be very clear on something. This was a mission, successfully completed. This was not, in any way, a victory."

The _Admiral Lionbane_'s chief gunnery officer, a pale, grumpy old warrior named Torath, crossed his arms and frowned at his commander. "All due respect, sir, we eliminated a whole planet of Alliance vermin at the cost of a single destroyer. If that isn't a victory, what is?"

Lotor scowled back at him, eyes glowing fiercely as their gazes locked. "Children could've carried out this attack, Torath. It's nothing to be proud of. Victory will be destroying Voltron; nothing more, nothing less."

To his surprise, Torath glared right back at him. "With all due respect, sir, your obsession with honor is clouding your tactical judgment. But more importantly, it's clouding your leadership! What purpose does it serve to tell us not to take pride in victory? Do you _want_ this task force's morale to remain at rock bottom?"

Glancing around the bridge, the prince took a quick assessment of his crew. Nobody was jumping to agree with Torath, but nobody was jumping to _dis_agree, either. Most were just watching their prince and commander, perhaps fearing how he would react. Or perhaps wondering if he could uphold his own authority... yes, such a challenge had to be answered.

But what was the answer? As he was realizing himself... if honor was a clear and sharp blade, it was one that could cut in many ways. Perhaps this would prove beneficial; to ensure once and for all that his whole task force was on the same page.

He nodded, stood, paced before the command chair. "Torath, did you hear nothing I said when Commander Varkor was relieved of his duty... and his head? Honor is not an _obsession_. It is one of the Supremacy's founding principles, one of our core values. It is what differentiates us from the Alliance vermin we so successfully eliminated."

"Of course, Sire." A few eyebrows raised at the shift in title. "But isn't it preferable to succeed than to fail with honor?"

"Only if one fears failure like any common, craven Earthling." Lotor was unpleasantly reminded of his father's orders to destroy the planet in the first place. _Honor is a guiding principle, not a suicide pact_. "Were we not all taught that the sting of defeat is the greatest of teachers? Shall we abandon our ideals for the sake of avoiding such lessons?"

That seemed to get through; Torath hesitated. "...You make a very fair point, sir."

"Then consider it carefully." Lotor gave him a short salute. "Make no mistake. I am pleased to have my warriors voice their concerns, and respect your courage in doing so. But on this point there will be no negotiation. If my methods are not to your liking, you are welcome to request a transfer. I'll even put in a good recommendation for you. But..." He bared his fangs in a snarl. "If you remain and look to undermine my authority, you will find me to be much less generous."

The gunnery officer's eyes widened and he returned the salute, then bowed low. "No, sir! I would not do such a thing."

Nod. "Very well. You'll have time to consider. After all, we _have_ successfully completed a mission, and will be given some time before deploying again." He turned to his helmsman. Mission complete, concerns of the crew addressed, no need to linger here any further. "Snuff, return us to Korrinoth."

"Aye sir!"

He didn't send a mission report ahead. Let his father wait.

* * *

><p>When Keith regained consciousness, it took several very long seconds for him to grasp what he was seeing. Where he was. When it all came flooding back, it was all he could do not to cry out in horror, as the nature of the burning asteroid field in front of him suddenly became all too clear.<p>

Balto was _gone_. Not merely razed like Arus had been. Not even blasted to uninhabitable bedrock, the worst any Drule kingdom had ever done to a target world before. Destroyed utterly. Rendered nothing but fragments of stone and cooling magma and dust.

He'd never heard of an attack like this in his life...

He hadn't even known it was _possible_.

Looking down he realized his controls were all dark. Voltron had been shut down somehow. Shut down but not destroyed? It didn't make sense. And as the last moments of the battle started to clarify themselves in his mind, he was certain they were too far from the ruined world. They'd been nearly in the atmosphere when the core began to destabilize.

Wrenching as it was, he forced himself to go over those last moments again. Trying to sort out what had happened next. The planet beginning to break up, that was clear, vivid in his mind—too vivid. But after that? He thought he had a vague sense of pain. And then he was waking up.

His reflection in the darkened monitors brought his combat senses back. _Figure it out later, get a status report now. We're sitting ducks out here._ Reflexively his hand went for the comms, then he sighed and mentally kicked himself. Start the robot up first, then try to open the comms...

And suddenly Keith realized he had no idea _how_ to start the machine back up. Usually the lions were activated by placing the keys in their slots, but his key was already there. A quick scan of the consoles gave him nothing that looked like a start-up button, so he tried pulling the key from its slot and replacing it. Nothing happened.

"Okay then..."

Normally he would've asked Pidge or Hunk to figure it out, but that required having active comms, which was sort of the problem. There was always his wristcomp... except for the fact that his wristcomp was sitting in Black Lion's shuttle back on Arus along with his regular uniform, because the devices were pretty much redundant while in the lions. Or so they'd thought.

He would be establishing a new policy about _that_ when they got home.

A more careful study of the consoles, still nothing. _You've got to be kidding_. Of all the issues they could run into out here... there was one other option, he supposed. One that was deeply strange to even think about, but it was the only idea he had left.

"...Black Lion?"

A glimmer in the back of his mind, the sensation of electricity sparking there. But more than that, there was a feeling of exhaustion, powerful enough to make Keith's eyelids flutter for a moment before he snapped himself out of it. Then an affirmative. Presence.

Okay, that was an answer. He tried to make sense of it, put it into some context. "Black Lion, can you... tell me what happened?"

A sense of abruptness, then a momentary flash of pain—enough to make him catch his breath, but gone before he could cry out. Then that same flood of exhaustion again. Underlying it all there was a sense of confusion, maybe even curiosity.

"You don't know either?"

Agreement. More confusion. Pain, then exhaustion... then repeating those sensations over and over, as if to make sure it was getting through.

Which he could _really_ do without right now.

"Okay, I get it!" To the extent he was going to, at least. "Sounds like it knocked you out. Knocked me out, too. Um, look, Black, can you... wake up all the way?" He tapped the dim consoles. "We need to get home."

Confusion again. Keith was really starting to wish he could teach the lion words. Didn't have to be a lot of words, just basic conversation... hell, yes or no would do right now! But there didn't seem to be much point in complaining about it. And then, just as he was about to ask again, a soft growl echoed around him, rippling through Voltron's body. A growl, building into a roar... one monitor flickered on. Another.

Despite himself, Keith breathed a sigh of relief. "Are you okay, Black? How about the others?"

First an affirmative, then a hesitation. As his own screens came to life he could see the other lions starting up as well. Yellow came online, then Blue, then Red... and then it stopped. Green Lion's icon on the status monitors remained dark. Keith's stomach dropped a little; Black Lion sent along a sense of worry just to make him feel worse.

"...Thanks, Black."

The feeling he got from that was as wordless as always, but it could only mean _you're welcome_. He sighed. _Great. Either my lion has no sense of sarcasm, or it has a better sense of sarcasm than I do_.

In any case, it was time to get to work. Comms. Right. "Team, report in."

"Yellow's online, chief." Hunk sounded like he'd been waiting for the order, though his voice was unusually low.

"I'm here," Allura reported right after him, seeming a bit dazed.

Lance responded last, sounding groggy, but still very much himself. "Yeah, um, what the hell just happened?"

"That's not a report," Keith grumbled halfheartedly. "I'm not entirely certain, and Black Lion's only been able to tell me so much. As best I can understand it, Voltron was shut down somehow, maybe the shock wave took it and us out."

"Shock wave?" his second repeated. "What shock w..." The question trailed off into a long, low string of curses in a language Keith couldn't place at first. It was only when he caught some Japanese followed by Norwegian that he realized Lance was actually going through _several_ of the languages in his impressive repertoire. "Chief. Tell me you flew us away from Balto while the rest of us were out. WAY away."

The commander sighed. He couldn't do that, and he could tell from his friend's tone that Lance knew he couldn't do that. "No... no. We're still there."

More swearing from Lance, and a soft gasp from Allura. "Do we have any survivors?" she asked after a moment. "Any of those shuttles that might have made it off the surface? I'm not reading any signals, but with so much debris..." Her voice was almost too hopeful, straining too hard; she knew the answer as well as the rest of them. And after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, she seemed to decide there was no reason to make any of them say it. "...What about Pidge?"

"Green Lion's still showing as offline," Hunk answered before Keith could. "I, uh, sent Swiss over to go check things out."

_...Right, he brought his mouse_. That probably answered a question Keith had forgotten he wanted to ask. Namely, how Hunk had found the star charts when they were getting ready to leave Arus... had it just been a few hours ago? Felt like forever and then some. "Okay. Guess we'll wait for her report then. I don't think we can fly like this." He frowned as he finished the statement; _could_ Voltron make the extradimensional breach with one of its limbs inactive but attached? He didn't even know what the applicable theory on that was.

Pidge would probably know.

Sven would definitely know.

Neither of them were available just now...

Something that he could only describe as indignation flooded through him. Just for a moment. It took him a few more moments to realize it was a message from Black Lion, and another several to notice that his hands were clenched brutally around the controls, as if he sought to strangle the life from them. "Oh." He let go quickly. "Sorry, Black."

A glimmer of forgiveness.

_Calm down_, he scolded himself, leaning back a little. _Freaking out isn't going to solve anything. Stay cool, get your team up and running and home. _Then_ you can freak out. As well you should, because the Drules just blew up a planet in front of you, and since when can they do that, exactly? Not to mention why... and why _this_ planet?_

Before he could dwell too much longer on that, he heard a banging in one of the access hatches behind him. The cover on one of the smaller vent shafts fell off with a clatter, and a glint of bluish steel tumbled out to scramble up onto his consoles. "Skwik!"

_Not bad._ Part of Keith was surprised the mouse had been able to navigate Voltron's internal structure so quickly. Part of him realized Hunk had probably sent her out before the lions even started up again. "Hey, Swiss. You've got a report for me, I hope?"

"Skwee-skwee-skwik!" The gold-eyed mouse stood in front of him and squeak-clicked further, words appearing on a monitor behind her. **Little green man sleeping, but motor still running. Want wake?**

Keith blinked, taking a few seconds to make sense of that, then nodded. "Yes, please."

"Skrik." Swiss vanished back into the hatch.

While he was waiting, Keith let himself sigh and sink back in his seat. How the hell had they reached this point, really? Bound to mystical sentient lion ships who communicated through enigmatic impulses, relying on robotic mice as support troops? If anyone had told him back at the academy that his first deployment would be like this, he'd have laughed like a maniac. And then promptly gone into accounting.

Green Lion's status icon came alive on his monitors. He waited for a few moments, then it became apparent the little pilot wasn't going to check in on his own. "Pidge? You there?"

The response came over a private channel, low and a little slurred, as though Pidge were speaking through a thick fog. "Here. Gonna strangle Hunk's mouse. Bit me."

Under any other circumstances, that would've been enough to get a laugh out of the commander, but of course this was definitely not the time. He decided to cut right to the chase, get it over with. "Are you okay to set your interstellar drives? We need to get out of here, get hom—" He clamped down viciously on that word before it could fully form. Bad word choice. _Bad_ word choice. "—get back to Arus."

A pause. Then that same vaguely hazy voice. "Green's online. Interstellar drives ready. Says you have to set the course."

Sure enough, Black Lion's star charts had popped up, complete with an alert that Green Lion was attempting to set a course and a small green dot indicating Arus. Keith supposed that made sense, it wouldn't do to have each lion plotting its own course in formation, after all. But he didn't enter the commands quite yet.

"Pidge, listen... if you want to talk, any time..."

No answer. Or at least, no verbal answer; the channel they'd been on promptly closed.

Shaking his head, knowing there wasn't much more that could be done for it here, Keith set Black Lion's destination and let Voltron take to the stars.

* * *

><p>It had been late at night when they returned, but Hunk had not slept well. Who could blame him? The trip back to Arus had seemed to take forever, cloaked in an uncomfortable silence that they'd all tried once or twice to break. But nobody could sustain small talk after where they'd been, what they'd seen...<p>

Okay, saying they'd _all_ tried to break it wasn't quite right, anyway. Pidge had gone back to sleep under the watchful eye of Swiss, before they'd even breached the dimensional barrier. And he'd stayed that way. Hunk could only hope that oblivion had been a merciful one... Yellow and Blue Lions had carried Green back to its den rather than waking its pilot again.

His little buddy had _seemed_ peaceful enough when Hunk carried him back to the castle, but who could know?

Upon waking today, or at least upon deciding to give up on ill-fated attempts at sleep, he'd found a message from Keith on his wristcomp. Meeting in conference room E, 9 sharp. _Wonderful._ The chief was probably going to try to run them ragged to get everyone's minds off what had happened yesterday. Which might be an entirely valid idea, the big engineer admitted to himself, if he weren't half asleep.

Whatever. Sulking wouldn't help, sulking never helped, so he went to grab some coffee.

The kitchen was deserted when he got there. One by one, the others did arrive just to prove they were awake, getting some coffee themselves and leaving to run through quick morning workouts. All agreed they had no appetite, a sentiment Hunk shared... to his own great surprise. When was the last time he hadn't been hungry? Sheesh.

Pidge never showed up. The team quietly agreed to let him sleep.

The problem with nobody sticking around in the kitchen was, it meant nobody was there to prevent massive caffeine overdoses. Five cups of coffee later, Hunk was no longer tired, if perhaps excessively twitchy. _Way to go. That's gonna be all kinds of fun when Keith is siccing you on Strawman for the hundredth time later, but at least you won't faceplant!_

Meeting time was fast approaching, so he returned to his room to pull on a uniform, then headed out again... and froze as he saw who was standing at the other end of the hall. "Pidge?"

"Hunk!" His young friend smiled brightly. "Hey, what's going on around here? It's late, my alarm clock's in pieces, and nobody ever came to wake me up."

Well. That was interesting... he took a few moments to try to figure out exactly how to handle this. But subtlety wasn't really his thing, and deception felt wrong. "We, uh... I'm not sure about the clock, but we just figured you wanted to be alone after... you know... what happened yesterday..."

Suddenly Pidge went deadly cold. Just for a second. He seemed to try to shake it off, but his eyes were emotionless when he looked back to Hunk. "What happened yesterday?" he asked in a voice that was utterly soulless. Empty.

_...Okay then!_

What was he supposed to say to that? He flailed for a few moments, staring at his friend, trying to decide exactly how to answer that. Whether to answer that at all, perhaps. "Uh... well... you know..." A beep from his wristcomp, echoed on Pidge's, saved him. Five minute warning. "Uh, c'mon! We'd better get to the conference room, huh? Don't wanna be late! Keith'll kill us in our sleep! Let's go!" He realized with a slight frown that he sounded every bit as desperate as Pidge discussing warp drives yesterday, and shut his mouth.

"Right..." The other engineer's voice was still a little bit hollow, but he seemed to be recovering as he fell into step beside Hunk. "Are you okay, big guy?"

_What kind of question is THAT?_ "As okay as I can be expected to be, I guess?"

Thankfully, Pidge seemed to decide it wasn't worth pursuing, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

Conference room E was one of the smaller briefing rooms. No need for something big. It was just the five pilots and Coran, locked in together, all eyes on the commander of the Voltron Force as he slowly paced around the room.

Finally Keith stopped and looked over them all. His gaze lingered on Pidge for just a moment longer than the others, and the small engineer simply stared back, impassive. As though he couldn't imagine why his boss would be singling him out.

"Okay. Late last night we received a short, preliminary report from the Alliance. This information is classified at the highest levels." Keith spoke softly, forcing them all to hang onto every word. "It _does not_ leave this room under any circumstances. It probably shouldn't have even made it to this room to begin with, but Marshal Graham felt we deserved to know."

Hunk arched an eyebrow. The marshal himself had intervened for them? That _was_ something.

"It's not something any of you are going to want to hear," their commander continued, his eyes now locked on the floor as he started pacing again. "Not something I want to have to tell you." At that he shot another brief glance at Pidge, barely noticeable, but of course Hunk couldn't help noticing. "But he's right, it's important... no matter how unpleasant."

He'd never heard Keith ramble on like this. The tension in the room was building and it was all he could do not to just say—

"—Spit it _out_, Keith," Lance snapped in a voice that was almost as nervous as annoyed.

Their leader nodded. "The Ninth Kingdom sent the Alliance an official diplomatic explanation for the destruction of Balto. They're claiming it was a justifiable act of war—that the Alliance took psychological warfare to a new low by raising a god, and the Drules are just acting in kind." He stopped pacing and his voice lowered still further. "Balto was chosen specifically as a blow against the Voltron Force."

Time stopped. It wasn't so simple as the room going quiet; you already could've heard a pin drop in the place, other than when Keith was actually speaking. But it seemed like the entire team had forgotten to breathe as one.

It was all Hunk could do to make even his eyes move. Pidge had gone several shades paler than normal, but otherwise he simply remained motionless. Staring at his commander as if he expected further elaboration. As if he didn't realize everyone was slowly turning their attention to him to see the eerie lack of reaction.

_Come on, little buddy. Say something. Punch someone. Do anything!_

But he did nothing.

Coran was the one who finally broke the silence. Saying what Pidge would've, if Pidge were there rather than this dead silent ghost that took his form. "The Drules should have no way of knowing to choose that target." His tone made it clear he had an idea of how it had come about.

"Exactly." Keith nodded. He wasn't staring openly at Pidge, but his eyes kept flicking in the small pilot's direction and his expression became more troubled each time. "There's a traitor somewhere in the Alliance. Someone who sold out a planet, who facilitated the end of an entire civilization... and who's still there, able to do more damage." His eyes narrowed. "You understand why this is classified. Besides us, only the Grand Council knows the truth."

Allura spoke slowly, horror in her words. "How... how can someone do that? Betray a whole planet for... what?" She tore her eyes away from Pidge only briefly, long enough to give their commander a helpless look. "What could possibly be worth it?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lance snarled. He wasn't pacing, just standing in front of a chair shifting his weight restlessly, smoldering. "Some bastard bureaucrat decided cold hard cash was more important than a few billion nameless people on some planet he'd probably never heard of. Easy decision when you've got no _soul."_

"Easy, Lance. We can't know for sure." Keith sighed; he sounded tired. Or perhaps a little hollow himself? Their commander believed in the Alliance, and its command structure. Having that faith suddenly broken couldn't be easy on him. "All we can do is catch whoever it is and ask."

"Ask?" Lance scoffed. His gaze flicked to Pidge as if looking for support, but found none; the little pilot wasn't looking at him. "How about beating the miserable bastard to a pulp until he begs to tell us everything, huh?"

Allura shot him a startled look. "Surely that's a bit much?"

"Like someone taking Drule blood money would talk willingly?"

"...Won't matter until they find the guy." It seemed as if Pidge had finally realized he was the center of attention. If anything it made his gaze more distant, and when he spoke there was no hint of emotion. "And it sounds like the Alliance had better get on investigating that. But why tell us? Not really our jurisdiction, is it? I'm going to go do some repairs." He stood, unlocked the door, and was gone before anyone could protest.

"Wait, Pidge—"

Hunk put a hand on Lance's shoulder, silencing him, not that it mattered since the little engineer was already well out of earshot. "Give him some space."

"I know, but... but..." The other pilot closed his eyes, snarling in frustration. "Hells! I know what it's like to lose your home, but losing your whole world... he can't take that by himself!"

"No," Hunk agreed. "He can't. But _we_ can't tell him that. When he's ready, it'll come."

Those brown eyes that were usually so warm and cheerful fixed on him, glittering fiercely, filled with frustration. "Dude. You can't be telling me all we can do is sit around and watch and wait! There has to be _something_—"

"—Do you think I like it any better than you do?" Hunk snapped, finally losing his grip on his own temper. "That's my best friend who just watched his planet blow up right in front of him! You think if there was _anything_ that could be done for him I wouldn't be doing it?" His voice dropped to a low, fierce growl. "Just forget about it!"

Lance's gaze erupted into the familiar inferno. "Back off, big guy. Pidge is my friend too, don't you _ever_ bitch me out for being worried about him!"

"Worry about him all you want on your own time. But I swear to god, Lance... if you press him even a little, you make things the tiniest bit worse, I'm gonna _break you in half_. Assuming he doesn't beat me to it. You got it?"

"Hunk!"

He felt Allura's hands wrap around his arm, forced himself not to shake her off. But he didn't want to be calmed, either. Everything that had happened was suddenly crashing down on him, imploding. And even Hunk had limits...

_Earthquake._

_Foundation cracks._

_Temporary._

_Settle again._

His eyes widened as the fragments of words shot through his mind. The sensation was familiar, yet every time he'd felt it before, the words had been just beyond his grasp...

_Yellow Lion? Was that you?_

A sense that was definitely a yes, along with more words. The voice sounded... tired, somehow, as though the words were a terrible exertion. _Heart of resolve. Settle!_

He blinked. As quickly as his anger had sparked, Yellow Lion's presence seemed to soothe it all away in an instant. Or was it just the shock outweighing any other feelings? A couple more blinks and he looked at Lance, who was glaring at him and being held back by Keith; even Coran looked ready to jump up and stick his cane in the middle of things if needed.

"...Sorry," he muttered, though he wasn't entirely sure he was. Sorry for the outburst, anyway... not sorry for looking out for Pidge, though he knew Lance was right about that, too... he sighed.

Lance hesitated a moment, then nodded. "It's okay, big guy. Been a hell of a couple days, right?"

"Yeah."

Keith's death grip on Lance's shoulders let up, and Allura slowly released Hunk's arm. "On that topic," their commander said after a moment, "I thought we'd just... take the rest of the day off. Do what you have to, you guys. Okay?"

_Oh, really?_ That was a pleasant surprise. Answering nods, and the group dispersed.

Hunk wandered the castle for a solid ten minutes before his brain consciously recognized that he didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to be with Pidge, but if Pidge wanted company, Pidge would damned well let him know he wanted company. No sense going against the same 'advice' he'd just delivered to Lance so emphatically...

Frowning, he headed for the control room and jumped down Yellow Lion's chute.

As he entered the den, a further calm seemed to set in; the cool semidarkness of the cave always had a stabilizing effect. His lion peered down at him with its usual vaguely grim expression, granted by the squared jaw and deep scar. "Morning, Yella Fella. Can we talk?"

Yellow growled. Or at least, he thought it growled. It could've just been a desert wind whipping outside the cave... no. No way. It had been his lion, he was sure of it. And why not? If it could speak to him...

And it _had_ spoken...

"So, uh..." He stretched out on one of Yellow's front paws. "Thanks for bringing me back down to earth earlier. I needed that." He chuckled at the unintended pun, then added, "I didn't know you could do words! You've been holdin' out on me!"

The lion responded immediately, a glimmer of acknowledgment for his gratitude, but mostly its answer was a sense of utter confusion.

Hunk cocked his head. "What's wrong?"

Now the sense of confusion strengthened, sharpened. Yellow was asking a question. He had no idea what the question was, but the feeling of question-ness was unmistakable. One might even say unquestionable. And then, with a surge of supreme effort, the question made its way through.

_Words?_

Oh. Well. That was about the last thing he'd expected to have to explain. "Um... yeah. Y'know. Words. Uh, they're what you use to talk. Or what _we_ use to talk anyway, you usually don't, but you did just now, and back when you were tryin' to calm me down, and yeesh, now I'm rambling again, huh? Seems like that's going around the last couple days."

Amusement. He'd noticed some time ago that Yellow Lion was fairly easily amused. That or he was just that funny; perhaps a bit of both. Then another feeling, a jarring contrast—scorn, almost contempt, but it wasn't directed at him. A jumbled mix of impressions. Effort, confusion, annoyance.

Hunk frowned. "...Okay, uh, that's a bit much, Yellow. Maybe you're the one rambling now?" A flash of exasperation. "Sorry! Uh, give me a minute then..." The lion helpfully responded by sending him the surge of feelings again. Stronger. And this time, they flowed together to make some sense. "You just told me words are overrated, didn't you?"

A congratulatory spark, then an affirmative.

Hunk wondered about that congratulations; could lions be sarcastic? He almost asked, but decided he didn't want to know. "We're gonna have to agree to disagree on that one, Yella Fella. I kinda like words, they're useful."

Doubt. But then an acceptance. Agree to disagree it was, apparently.

It wasn't until quite a bit later, when he returned to the castle to make lunch, that he realized what had happened. Not only had Yellow soothed his temper when he most needed it... it had managed to keep him from dwelling on Pidge.

_Well played, Yella Fella. Well played_.

* * *

><p>Keith had gone to beat up Strawman. Lance had wanted to do the same. But Keith... damn him and his calm discipline anyway. He was standing there focusing himself and being all<em> technically sound<em> and all that junk, and Lance just wanted to do was scream and flail and throw punches until he passed out. Having someone so calm next to him totally killed the mood.

Of course he knew the calm was a construct... his friend's manner of dealing with stress was to withdraw into himself, that was all. Channeling into lethal, focused strikes rather than venting wildly in every direction.

Knowing what the chief was up to did not make him any more tolerable, so Lance had stormed out of the courtyard to find something else to do. He wasn't really surprised when he found himself on the balcony overlooking Mount Ahriman.

What did surprise him was that someone was already there.

"Allura?"

"Hey, Lance." Allura was sitting with her knees drawn to her chest, gazing up at the sky, the overcast reflecting in her clouded eyes. "What brings you out here?"

"Dunno, really. Just looking for something to do." He shook his head in annoyance, walked forward and leaned over on the railing. Staring at the volcano, Red Lion's home. "Keith's already got a date with Strawman and I like the view out here, so here I am."

"Hmm... yes, I imagine you _would_ like this deck," she agreed with a nod, her gaze trailing down to the glowing lava. Both were quiet for a moment as they took in the view, then she spoke again, hesitant now. "Lance, since you're here. Can I ask you something that might be... a bit painful?"

"That's a good way to really make me excited about saying yes," he grumbled, then fell silent when she turned and scowled up at him. "...You can ask, but I'm not going to promise I'll answer, is that fair enough?"

"I suppose it's all I can hope for." Something odd flickered in her gaze. "Back on Balto, or at Balto, I guess. When the planet exploded... what do you remember? I know we were all knocked unconscious, but the more I think about it, the more things don't quite add up."

Oh. Of course she wanted to ask about _that_. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. Hells no she wasn't getting an answer. Forget it! He was absolutely not going to think back to that moment, because the dreams last night had been more than bad enough.

"What's to add up?" he snapped, opening his eyes and glaring. "There was a planet. Now there's not." Despite his annoyance he sat next to her, glowering out at the volcano, trying his best to look unapproachable. Which he was really quite good at, but the princess was pretty good at seeing through that sort of thing, too. Spirit talker and all.

Damned inconvenient.

"Lance..." She was frowning. "Here, forget I asked that, but... talk to me? You've been taking this almost as hard as Pidge. In your own way, I mean, but..."

He glared at her, again, not caring at all for how easily she read him. Was that really any of her business?

...Then again, what else could he expect? She, alone among the Voltron Force, didn't know his reasons. Maybe he should go ahead and explain himself; after all, the Drules had razed her home too. "Sorry." His tone was a bit calmer now. "It's just... when I was eight, those blue-skinned bastards destroyed my village. Killed everyone but me. Not because a bunch of farmers and stuff were a threat; they were just making a political point. And ever since then I've promised myself I would fight them, stop them. Avenge my family... avenge everyone. But..."

Allura watched him, her eyes sympathetic, placing a hand on his. "But?"

Sigh. "But I also said when I joined the academy that it was never going to happen again. Not on my watch. Nobody else was going to lose their home like that, not if I could help it." His fists clenched, nails digging painfully into his palms. "Balto wasn't a threat either... just another political point! But most of all... we were _there_, Allura. We were RIGHT. THERE. And there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it!"

She looked over, met his eyes. Smiled sadly. "I understand, Lance. I do. I meant what I told Coran before we left, I... never want another world to see the same fate Arus did. Let alone something so much worse." Her hand tightened over his. "And there's more, isn't there? Not only could we not save Balto, we can't even help Pidge."

Lance winced, swallowed hard, his throat suddenly terribly dry. She had him pegged, all right. Damn her anyway. "Yeah. I know Hunk's right, I mean, the squirt's a ball of sharp pointy edges. He doesn't want warm and fuzzy. I don't want to dump warm and fuzzy on him! I just wish I could do _something_. Doing nothing might be what helps, but it sure doesn't feel like doing _something_."

"I know." Allura rested her head on his shoulder, staring at the sky again.

He tensed. _Oh, Keith would _so_ kill me if he were here right now. _But what the hell? Keith wasn't here, and it wasn't like they were doing anything anyway. Just a couple of teammates comforting each other. Being all warm and fuzzy. Maybe there was something to be said for that after all. On rare occasions only, of course.

"Damn," he muttered, as the glow of the lava began to evoke images of Balto's shattered surface in his mind. "I _hate_ those Drule bastards."

"I hate them too," she agreed softly. "I shouldn't. Hatred isn't... proper, isn't admirable, doesn't solve anything. But how can I not? Those monsters took away everyone I cared about."

"You've got a right to hate." He frowned, remembering. Conversations on this topic, conversations where he was solidly on the other side of the discussion. Should he really be encouraging this? "As long as you don't go overboard, thinking killing them will solve everything. I've been there... and trust me. It's not a pleasant place to be."

She cast him a curious look. "I appreciate the advice." It looked like she wanted to say more than that, but he gave her a warning look and she fell silent. Limits. He wasn't going to tell her _everything_, for crying out loud.

Lapsing into silence, they continued to watch the volcano. Or the sky. Or maybe it didn't matter what they were watching, exactly. The landscape before them was a planet, intact and rebuilding, not broken forever by the touch of the Drules. Right now that was more than enough.

* * *

><p>He'd told them he was going to do repairs.<p>

Repairs? Whatever. Something needed fixed, all right, but it wasn't the lions.

Pidge had no idea what was happening to him. Intellectually he understood. Balto was gone. That was the word. Gone. He didn't know how it was gone, just...

Inside his chest there was a gaping void he couldn't place. It was worse than gone.

Why couldn't he just...

What had happened yesterday?

Why couldn't he remember?

Casting back through his mind he only remembered waking up, finding the fragments of his alarm clock scattered across the floor. Actually his whole room looked like the aftermath of the apocalypse, he'd wondered at first if Drules had made it into the castle. Surely Hunk would've mentioned that, though, when Pidge asked what was going on.

Balto. Gone.

It didn't matter. Yesterday didn't matter. What mattered was his planet, somehow lost.

Jyari?

She was gone too. He knew it because there was no other possibility, knew it because the shredding wound in his guts couldn't mean anything else.

Gone because of him.

Yes. That was what Keith had said, wasn't it? Balto had been destroyed to get at the Voltron Force, and only one of them had any reason to care.

Damned well worked, hadn't it? Or had it worked when he couldn't remember—that was it. It hit him like a waking nightmare. That was what he couldn't remember.

He'd been there.

He'd _seen_.

The image flashed in front of him. A planet, achingly familiar. Except magma was surging from an ever-expanding network of chasms, flames were shooting out from the core, and slowly but surely the whole world was crumbling before his eyes...

"No!"

As if chased away by his scream, the vision faded, but the reality only burned ten times brighter. Whether the image was there or not didn't matter.

He fell to the soft dirt in front of Green Lion, lowered his forehead to the ground and let the tears fall. Alone. Alone though he knew the others wanted to try to help him, to comfort him... but there was no help this time. No comfort to be had. Only the blackness in space that had once been a planet, the blackness mirrored as a gap in his own mind.

It hadn't happened.

So long as he didn't remember, perhaps it wasn't true.

So long as he didn't think about it, it didn't have to hurt.

Something nudged his shoulder gently. Too hard to be a person, much too large to be a mouse. Looking up, squinting through the tears and dirt streaking his glasses, he found Green Lion's huge silver muzzle only inches away from his body.

"...Green?"

It nudged him again, growled softly.

"How are you..." He fell silent. The lion couldn't really answer that question, and right now he didn't even care. Placing a hand on the shining steel, he rested his head against the lion's lower jaw. "Thanks."

It was quiet again, motionless. As though it had taken all of the metal beast's effort just to get so close on its own.

Pidge remained there, soaking in his lion's presence, its closeness. And sooner or later, sobbing against the cool metal, he fell asleep.

* * *

><p><em>Politics.<em>

Lotor stood next to Haggar, behind his father, and tried not to snarl at the nine crystals arrayed before them; one for each of the other nine kingdoms of the Drule Supremacy. The comm crystals both projected and transmitted, and were arranged in such a manner that if he looked at one monitor, he would appear to the person on the other side to be staring straight at them. A poor substitute for meeting in person, but it would suffice under the circumstances.

Under normal conditions, the Supreme Council met deep within the Andromeda Galaxy on the sacred world of Naraku: seat of the ancient First Empire, neutral ground to the ten kingdoms. Such was old and glorious tradition, but every so often it was simply impractical. The last time the Council had met via crystals rather than in person had been at the height of the Rift War, when transporting the rulers of the kingdoms across enemy lines had seemed rather foolish.

Today the reasons for such a gathering were not practicality, but urgency. And it was really just as well. The shouting match which had ensued from the opening moments would have disgraced the venerable chambers of the Grand Hall... in the remote gathering, it was allowed to continue. Let the assembled rulers get it out of their systems. After about ten minutes, though, it was clear things weren't going to die down without some sort of intervention, and there _was_ business to attend to.

"ENOUGH!"

The roar came from Vyrketh, young lord of the Eighth Kingdom, who undoubtedly hadn't anticipated this turn of events and looked deeply unamused by them. He'd held his throne less than a month, but it was the Eighth's turn to 'host' this illustrious event. Tradition had to be maintained. So here he was, attending his first Supreme Council meeting of any sort, trying to preside over the most contentious gathering in living memory.

Of _course_ he was unamused.

Lotor felt a good deal of sympathy for the frustrated young face on the monitor, forced by politics and duty into a position he had no desire to be in. A familiar tale, indeed.

Vyrketh glowered at all of them for a few moments, waiting for the chatter to die down, then spoke again. "Decorum will be maintained. There is no need for an emergency session to reduce us to yowling animals." He glanced at the withered old advisor behind him, as if to make sure he hadn't crossed a line himself, then continued. "Now. The Ninth Kingdom is currently in a state of war, and its actions are what brings us here. As such, honor demands they be given the first chance to speak. Your Imperial Highness of the Ninth, King Zarkon, what say you?"

Scowl. "I have very little to say." Zarkon's glowing eyes traveled over the comm crystals arrayed before him, his gaze piercing each of the other rulers. "The destruction of an Alliance world of minimal value is hardly worth this Supreme Council's attention, let alone an emergency session. Our actions were well within our rights as the superior force."

"Your justification for exterminating insects isn't the issue here, King Zarkon," a harsh voice countered. Krai Soltorn, General of the Fourth Kingdom, had a derisive sneer on her face as she spoke. "It's your compromising matters for the rest of us. Are you not aware that the very existence of the Enyo model is unknown, and was previously unsuspected, by the Alliance? They will be wondering _how_ you did what you did; you've tipped our hands and revealed what was once a fine trump card."

"On the contrary, Most Exalted General. The justification is of the utmost importance." King Dharlok looked concerned and a little bit scornful, neither of which were unusual. Perhaps owing to their remote location in the Kisenian Galaxy—untouched by the Alliance—the Tenth Kingdom held to the old ways quite stringently indeed, and often seemed to consider even their Drule brethren to be barbarians. "As you say, the Alliance was unaware of the capability of the Enyos, and we may be unaware of similar weapons they can wield. By using this power so lightly, has not the Ninth invited the Alliance to escalate matters for equally trivial reasons?"

"Trivial!" Zarkon growled, but not loud enough for the comm crystals to pick up. Behind him, Lotor and Haggar exchanged glances but said nothing; Lotor wasn't quite certain _trivial_ was the wrong word to use. The witch's expression was unreadable... but on the other hand, 'unreadable' was a far cry from 'approving'. She didn't seem terribly pleased to be here either.

There was a moment's hesitation before anyone else spoke up, then the scale-skinned Queen Lirinska entered the conversation with a look of worry in her eyes. "Indeed. We've made it clear enough to the Alliance that the Ninth is acting on their own, and thus far they've been quite honorable in keeping the battle where it belongs. But one wonders how long it will be until they decide to take out their frustrations on the rest of us. The Third Kingdom certainly has no desire for open war at this time."

Soltorn scoffed. "Is the Third frightened of humans, Royal Serenity? There are those who'll protect you if you've no stomach for a fight."

Immediately, Lirinska's teal eyes flared with light and rage. "We have no need of your protection, General, especially not when you define the term as slaughtering innocents because you can't stand against the enemy's true forces! It's a wonder you aren't singing the Ninth's praises for—"

"That will be enough," Vyrketh snapped. "We are here to discuss the current actions of the Ninth Kingdom, not the Fourth Kingdom's behavior in past wars."

"His Lordship of the Eighth is correct, enough of this! With all due respect to the illustrious council members..." Zarkon spoke through gritted teeth, and his eyes gleamed dangerously. "I hasten to point out that none of _you_ have had an ancient god awakened on your doorstep. The challenge faced by the Ninth Kingdom is unique. I have not asked for aid, but I will not have my tactics questioned from afar!"

King Grae broke in before anyone else could yell back. "Calm would be advisable at this delicate stage." The wolflike leader of the Sixth Kingdom had a soft, almost gentle voice, and the Sixth was known for its patient outlook. No one was going to snarl at _him_. "King Zarkon is correct. Our brothers in the Ninth Kingdom face a battle unlike any other. We cannot understand, and thus, ought not seek to intervene from any angle."

_Oh_. Lotor's eyes widened slightly as that sank in. He shook the expression quickly, no sense showing even a glimmer of weakness. His father's expression had barely flickered; a slight baring of his fangs was the only indication he'd even heard the words. And grasped them.

"Wise thoughts, as always." Dharlok gave a nod of grave satisfaction. "It is as both the Imperial Highness of the Ninth and His Grace of the Sixth have said. Let the Ninth Kingdom answer to those they have provoked, and prove themselves... or not."

Lotor bristled under that implication, and noticed—with grudging respect—that his father again masked any reaction. "That is all we ask, Honorable Majesty."

Lirinska started to say something, but Vyrketh cut her off impatiently. "Very well! The Ninth Kingdom has explained their actions and made their request to this Supreme Council. They would be left to their own devices. We will vote on this solution, and should it fail the vote, _then_ you can go back to bickering like children!"

Several of the images in the monitors flinched. Lotor couldn't suppress a slight chuckle, which got him a glare from his father and a glance that might have been amused from Haggar. _Good of the fourteen-year-old to remind you all of your manners. Duly chastised, are we?_

The vote was rather one-sided, really. Unsurprising. Only the Fourth and Fifth Kingdoms had any interest in leaving their options to intervene open. Lotor knew perfectly well their votes were due to their general warlike preferences, and not an expression of support for the Ninth's actions.

But he was realizing something else, as he stood dutifully at his father's side and listened to the judgment of the Supreme Council being passed down. The scornful looks weren't merely being cast at King Zarkon himself. They traveled over the Ninth's entire delegation... the young prince clenched a fist as the political realities sank in. Oh yes, his father had ordered the strike. But _he_ had carried it out. And so he, too, was tainted by it, as surely as if it had been his own idea.

...Surely that couldn't have been his father's intent.

* * *

><p>With night falling and no sign of his little buddy for the last twelve hours, Hunk decided that making sure Pidge at least spent the night in the castle wasn't pressing too far. Not really. He'd claimed he was going to work on repairs, and most likely he'd gone to check on his own lion first...<p>

Had the lions all together, let alone Green Lion by itself, really taken twelve hours worth of damage? Not hardly, but it was a place to start. He headed for the control room and jumped down Green's chute.

He always found Green Lion's den to be a little jarring. It was the same as Yellow's and yet completely opposite at the same time... an identical layout, but damp rather than dry, the ground made of soft dirt and cool moss rather than hard stone and warm sand. He'd noticed something similar about Red and Blue's dens; both were the same-shaped platform surrounded by an encroaching liquid, but one was water and the other magma.

It seemed like an awful lot of work to go through, just for a little symmetry. He wondered if there was more to it. But how could they know?

The lion was crouched on all fours, hunched over, which was decidedly not how the big cats usually parked. Moving around the metal beast he saw why. Pidge was curled up against Green's lower jaw, fast asleep again, tears still streaking his face.

"Oh, little buddy..." He sighed. "C'mon. Let's get you back in." Gently, he eased Green Lion's key from the pouch on Pidge's belt, then lifted his friend and moved into the cockpit. "Hope you don't mind, Green, I'll be quick... gotta get your pilot here back to the castle, is all."

Something surged in his mind. Brief but sharp. _Literally_ sharp; he yelped and pressed one hand to his forehead, the other still occupied keeping Pidge in place on his shoulder. It was gone in an instant, but it reminded him of something else... the time he'd piloted Blue Lion while Allura was training, the time he thought he felt a flicker of relief from the craft...

Oh, no. No, no, no. He could deal with Yellow Lion discovering words today. He could not deal with Yellow discovering words _and_ someone else's lion trying to talk to him. Rather than saying anything else he decided to just get this over with, settling his friend in the rear seat and sliding Green Lion's key into its slot.

The lion didn't start.

It snarled.

"Hey!" Hunk hissed as the cockpit shook from the sound. "Take it easy, you're gonna wake him up!"

Green growled again, much softer, not enough to rock the craft this time. The consoles remained dark. And he knew from many rounds of maintenance that this lion didn't _usually_ have any problems flying for him.

"Okay." His voice came out a little sullen. He wasn't stupid; he could see what the lion was getting at, and really didn't want it giving him another headache. "I get you... you want him to stay here... just be sure you watch him, okay?" Picking Pidge up again—his friend didn't seem to have noticed all the movement and noise in the least—he left the cockpit and set him down in a particularly fluffy patch of moss near Green's head. Then he looked at the lion again, eyes narrowed. "I _mean it_, Green. You take good care of him, or you answer to _me_. And I'm the repair guy, so that ain't an idle threat!" He held up a wrench from his belt and waved it around for emphasis.

The lion growled again; he thought it might be laughing.

Hard to say what to make of that.

* * *

><p>Chip could not begin to imagine why he'd been pulled out of Intro to Aeronautics. Well, he could <em>imagine<em> quite a few reasons for it, but all of them should've involved his roommate being yanked right along with him... he made a habit of not doing things that could get him into trouble unless Daniel was around to share the blame.

This never took much convincing, actually. In fact, Daniel came up with just as many crazy ideas as he did.

Worse than being yanked out of class alone was being yanked out of class alone and taken to a _colonel_. His guts were starting to twist now; he'd done nothing that should draw the attention of such an officer, other than his own professors, and this wasn't one he'd ever seen before.

"Cadet Chip?"

Well _that_ was new. He usually got Cadet Stoker, at least until he corrected people, and with some professors even that didn't work. "Yessir." Quite belatedly he saluted.

The man's expression was grim; he didn't bother to introduce himself, though the nameplate outside had identified him as Colonel Mahzun. "At ease, cadet. I'm afraid I have to deliver some bad news."

_Syrankar_.

Chip's whole body seized up. It had to be Pidge, it could only be Pidge. He was out there, after all, fighting the Drules. Standing at the front of the war in the Denubian. And if he'd lost Pidge...

No. The panic subsided as swiftly as it had set in. Pidge was still alive, because if his brother were dead he'd have known it long before some colonel had to call him in. But then why was he here? Certainly Jyari was in no danger.

Certainly.

"Yesterday a Ninth Kingdom fleet launched a surprise attack on Balto," Mahzun said quietly. "They employed weapons no Supremacy force has ever used in battle... we have no idea to what end." The colonel sighed. "There's no way to break this gently, cadet. Your planet no longer exists."


	8. The New Normal

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Chapter 7: The New Normal<p>

_Long chapter is long. Again.  
><em>_The Drule Royal Creed is taken directly from the DDP comics, because frankly I couldn't find a way to improve on it. Heh._

* * *

><p>Allura found Coran in his office doing paperwork. Probably paperwork she'd dumped off on him, and that was a situation she really ought to see about fixing... her father had had aides for such nonsense, she was sure of it. Perhaps it was time to see about gathering a fully functioning staff for the Castle of Lions, rather than the skeleton crew they'd been working with.<p>

She could get Nanny on that later. For now, she was here on a very specific mission.

"Coran?"

He looked up, smiled. "Princess, what brings you here?"

"A proposal." She dropped into an empty chair and waited for him to put the papers aside. "We were never able to hold any sort of planetary commemoration for the victims of Zarkon's attack, and I'd like to do that before the first anniversary comes around." There was much more to the timing than just beating the one year mark, of course. Rebuilding was just now reaching the point where word of any sort of planetary event would actually get out to, well, the _planet_.

That and...

The baronet studied her a moment, and picked up on the other element of this. "And you want to do something for Balto."

"Yes. I..." The princess clenched her fists, closed her eyes. Still remembering that moment. She had been meditating over the last couple of days, trying to find the pieces that weren't coming together, and finally thought she had a full picture of what had happened when the doomed world shattered. The sight of its breaking, yes. But more importantly, what had happened to the pilots as they watched, ripped from reality into memory.

Somehow.

She kept thinking she wanted to ask Blue Lion about it. But something stopped her. Perhaps she feared having all the answers.

Coran was still looking at her, waiting patiently for her to continue; she blinked. "Oh, sorry."

"It's quite alright, Allura." He offered a sad, tentative smile. "I cannot imagine..." For a moment he actually looked a little guilty. He'd tried to hold them back, after all.

Of course, his reasoning had been entirely _correct_.

Dwelling on that wouldn't help, so Allura didn't. "Prepare a ceremony. One with the full resources of the Crown, such as they are." Her eyes narrowed, twin slivers of sapphire. "I can hardly memorialize another world without remembering the struggles of my own. But Balto was such a reclusive planet; if we don't mourn for them, who will? What about the others we may never have even heard of, Sennec and those like them? I want to have a day to remember _all_ who've suffered and died at the hands of the Drules."

The old advisor nodded. "I think that's wise. It gives our people something to rally around, but also allows them to feel a part of something greater—with even planetary communications devastated, interstellar contact from most of Arus has been out of the question. We're only now starting to get that infrastructure rebuilt on the other continents."

"Another plus." Allura smiled. "The next relay satellite is still scheduled to launch next week, isn't it?"

"Indeed." Coran frowned at his desk. "Actually I have the final authorization papers buried somewhere in this mess."

Allura giggled a little, she couldn't help it. Then decided maybe a little extra goodwill might be wise before raising the other subject she wanted to discuss. "Would you like some help with that? You _do_ have quite a lot of papers here."

Hawklike eyes locked on her. "Forgive me, Princess, but if you're offering to assist me with paperwork I can't help wondering what you're about to ask for."

"Can't slip anything by you, can I?"

"It's part of my job."

"True enough, true enough." She took a deep breath. There was no doubt in her own mind about what she was about to suggest, but... it would defy how many centuries of Arusian tradition? This was going to be a battle.

One she intended to win.

"Fine. There's also something I'd like to do for the Voltron Force..."

* * *

><p>Daniel Adessi paused in his doorway and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.<p>

His roommate's side of the dorm room looked like it had been hit by a tornado. No. That wasn't enough. More like it had been hit by a hurricane, turned upside-down, and thrown a block away for good measure. Yet his own side was untouched, leaving the room a curious mix of wreckage and restraint.

The one who'd presumably caused all the damage was curled up in the middle of the mess.

"Uh... Chip?"

"If you say another word I'll kill you. Painfully."

It wasn't even close to being the first time he'd gotten such a threat. It was, however, the first time he'd completely believed it. _Okay then. Let's just leave him alone to self-destruct all over the room, shall we?_ Keeping very very silent, he slipped back out and closed the door.

And stopped five feet down the hallway, wincing.

He had no idea what was going on in there but... Chip needed somebody. No, he wanted to be alone. Leave him alone. Clearly being alone was going oh so well for him so far.

Daniel had never been all that good at just letting things go.

Walking back into the room, he located a piece of paper and a pen, because he was still pretty much certain that death threat was the real deal. Chip hadn't said anything about _writing_ words.

Considering the matter for a few moments, he decided it was probably best to not get within arm's reach of his roommate, just in case. Chip might look like a scrawny young human, but he hit like a truck—he'd learned that one the hard way. No sense putting himself in more mortal peril than necessary.

Folding the paper into an airplane, he scribbled a note on one wing. **What's wrong?**

When the missive hit Chip's shoulder he sprang up with a snarl, dark eyes blazing behind his glasses. "If you _really_ want to die, Daniel, just—" He trailed off when he saw what had actually hit him, his gaze flickering over the words. When he spoke again he sounded more sullen than enraged, which was progress. "You are really pushing your luck."

Was speaking still off limits? Speaking was probably still off limits. Daniel shrugged. The question still stood... finding another piece of paper he wrote a new message, one he found eminently reasonable. **I don't wanna room with a homicidal maniac. So I wanna help.**

Chip snorted when he read the new note. "You may as well talk, your handwriting is even worse than my brother's."

"Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome." His roommate glowered at him. "But you can't help."

"You sure? We could talk." Daniel sat on his bed, eyes still darting over the mess. Chip had been _exceptionally_ thorough. "Talking things out always helps, right?"

"Says who?"

Frown. Fair question. "Uh... says all those goofy self-help types, or something. And my counselor back in high school. Yeah. Them." He knew he shouldn't have expected anything different, really; Chip didn't do talking. They plotted and got into trouble together, sure, but all he really _knew_ about the guy he'd been living with for two months was that he was from Balto, and had a brother deployed in another galaxy.

_...Wait, his brother... oh, no._

He looked at his brooding companion and winced. "Chip... is your brother okay?"

"My _brother_, so far as I know, is fine." He sat up too, eyes burning, muttering something darkly in what presumably was a Baltan language. "It's my _sister_. She's _dead_."

Sister? He'd never so much as mentioned a sister. Daniel started to comment on that, then shut his mouth, because that was not the appropriate response here and he really didn't want to get killed in his own dorm room. "Oh, Chip, I... I'm sorry..."

Snort. "You're not one of the blue-skinned bastards that murdered her. What're _you_ sorry about?"

He just had to keep asking questions, didn't he? Daniel wasn't entirely certain why people said that either. Well, he understood feeling sorry for someone, but not saying it like you were apologizing yourself. "It's just an Earthling thing, dude. I'm sorry it happened, I guess?" This whole condolences thing was not working very well; he latched onto the rest of Chip's statement. "Well, you... it was the Drules? At least you're here, right? You can fight back! That's what the Alliance is for, right?"

"Oh, to hell with the Alliance! Fight back? Sure they can fight back. They were supposed to protect her, and they did _that_ so well! What's the point in having a mutual defense society when you can't defend anyone, you tell me that?"

Frown. "What do you... you can't be saying you blame the Alliance for...?"

"Can't I? The Drules blew up the whole goddamned _planet_, Daniel!"

_...Wait, what?_

Daniel froze, staring at Chip, trying to comprehend what he'd just been told. It seemed like his roommate was startled he'd let that slip too, actually. Which made no sense at all. Shouldn't that be the _first_ thing to come to mind? There was a pretty big difference between killing one person and blowing up a whole planet, after all.

"They can _do_ that?" he whispered, not sure what else to say.

"Apparently." A derisive scowl. "Colonel Mahzun, whoever the hell that is, pretty much said the Alliance didn't know they could do that either. Bit of a failure of intel, huh?"

"Yeah, just a little..." Daniel was out of ideas now. He really shouldhave just run off and left Chip to his own personal hell here. But no... he'd have had to deal with this sooner or later, wouldn't he? He had to come back and sleep sometime. And he doubted his roommate would have recovered if he'd just been given a couple more hours. "Your brother, uh, is he okay?"

For the first time, Chip's hateful mask cracked. Just a bit. "I... I haven't even gotten in touch with him yet. I mean, I just heard this morning. I don't even know if... he's a long way away, comms take a lot of time..." Wince. "I don't know if he knows, and I don't want to be the one who tells him what happened."

Daniel found that entirely reasonable. Especially if that brother had a similar temper. "So... what're you gonna do now?" Given how Chip had just erupted about the Alliance, he was fully expecting to hear that he'd be getting a new roommate soon. Why stick around for a mission he apparently no longer believed in?

But the fire in Chip's dark eyes dimmed a bit. "Clean up, do my homework, and deal, I guess. What else would I do?" He gave a short, bitter laugh. "It's not like I can pack up and go home."

The words struck Daniel hard. He'd been quietly avoiding thinking the full implications through until that moment... but there they were now, out in the open, stinging like knives.

"...Tell me about her."

He said it on impulse. In fact, he couldn't remember ever actually deciding to say it at all, just suddenly it was out there, and the words were in his voice. Impulsiveness _was_ sort of his thing. But the more he thought about it after the fact, the more sense it made. Talking helped, right? And he _did_ want to help, even if it was just about self-preservation.

Was it just about self-preservation?

Maybe not. Not really.

Chip glowered at him. Then hesitated. Tilted his head slightly, almost as if he were listening to some voice... some ghost, maybe? And finally he nodded. "Sure. Why not? She tried to teach me to trust... to open up to people... she'd like it if I talked to you." He laughed, and it wasn't so bitter, though still pained. "Sit down, Daniel. This will take awhile."

* * *

><p>Keith was feeling helpless.<p>

Hadn't he once promised himself he was never going to feel that way again?

He had tried to pull the recordings from Black Lion, to see exactly what had happened in Balto's final moments. Not because he _wanted_ to see. Absolutely not. But because sorting out how they'd ended up so far from the planet seemed important. Being pushed away by the blast wave ought to have caused damage. So much about Voltron's function was still unknown—he felt like he should at least _try_ to figure this stuff out.

And maybe... maybe he felt he had a duty to the world they hadn't been able to save, to at least observe the full course of its ending. To see that finality and admit to himself that they'd failed, that maybe they—maybe _he_—couldn't make every determination after all...

Not that any of that mattered, because the video held no answers. Voltron obviously hadn't been recording once it was shut down. He thought there were traces of something, some anomalous readings, but nothing he was able to make sense of—for that he would need the skills of a systems analyst.

Which brought him to Pidge.

What the hell to do about Pidge?

The young warrior was so distant. Shattered. How could he not be, of course... hadn't he just watched his planet destroyed and been told it was his fault? To the best of his commander's knowledge, he'd spent most of his time since that team meeting holed up in Green Lion's den. Keith had tried to drop by to talk to him yesterday, but he'd feigned sleep.

Rather poorly, really, but the message had been clear. It hadn't seemed like time to press.

So what to do with him? He was needed. Keith's command instincts were screaming to relieve Pidge of duty, give him time to sort himself out, ship him off to the nearest military therapist to deal with things. Any other mission, and he may have done just that. But the lions didn't exactly take to replacement pilots, as they knew all too well. By the time they found a replacement and convinced Green Lion to accept it, who knew what havoc could've been wrought on Arus?

Besides... that was precisely what the Drules wanted, their own stated reasoning for destroying the planet. It would be handing them a victory they'd not yet won. And he just _couldn't_ do that. Couldn't admit defeat. Couldn't deny Pidge his shot at those who'd taken his world from him...

Would it come down to that? For an instant he found himself almost wishing for an attack, for the Drules to resurface and remind the little pilot what he was fighting for. Keith knew what he'd seen on Balto, felt in the Voltron formation. That fury. He could almost see it in his mind now, the truth falling so cleanly into place. If nothing else could heal this wound, perhaps battle would be able to do it.

He wasn't sure he wanted Pidge to become another Lance, and was fairly sure Lance would agree with him on that count, actually. But... wouldn't even that be better than the hollow shell he'd become?

_You're coming to no conclusions here, Commander Kogane._

Well, that much was for sure. Keith sighed. He would give it more time, at least a little more time. How long did you give someone to get over seeing their homeworld explode? ...A week. That was a nice round number. Yes. He'd give it a week, and go from there. And he felt all the more helpless for that decision.

_Black Lion... am I doing the right thing?_

A jolt shot through him, his lion's response firm and unquestioning. Definitely a yes. And something else, at the very fringes of the sensation. A gentle breeze, a hint of words. There weren't real words, but the _sense_ of words was clear and sharp as a thunderbolt.

_The wind stirs..._

* * *

><p><em>This can't go on.<em>

It had been four days. Pidge knew that because of the calendar function on his wristcomp, because he glanced at it often out of reflex. Not because time mattered to him. Sleep came and went regardless of day or night, the cool darkness of Green Lion's den rendering all outside circumstances irrelevant. He knew the team was worried because they'd been down here, each of them checking in. Some more than once.

For each visit he'd pretended to be asleep.

He was pretty sure Allura had not been fooled, and positive Hunk hadn't been. But nobody was pushing, and he was thankful for that, though he was growing more and more furious with himself as the days blurred together.

_The team needs you. They're not going to indulge this little whinefest for much longer. Get up and get it together, because you don't have a choice!_

So much easier said than done...

He looked up, and huge golden eyes peered back down at him. "Green Lion..."

An immediate glimmer of acknowledgment touched his mind, simple at first, then unfolding into a tapestry of feelings—questioning, concerned, hopeful.

"Thanks." Pidge managed a weak smile. "I... I need to talk through some things. Hear me out?" The sense of agreement was swift and emphatic, and the small pilot began pacing about the den. "The Drules... I know what they did, they destroyed my planet. Blew it all to dust. I know, I don't really need to tell you that. You were there, you saw it, and you probably even remember what you saw, right?"

All he'd really wanted was a yes or no answer. The lions were perfectly capable of that, if not exactly in words. Green gave him a yes. But it also sent along a surge of such horror and pain that Pidge dropped to his knees with a strangled shriek.

_"Green!"_

The sensations halted, replaced by a very confused apology.

"...Sorry. Um, I get the picture." He shook his head to clear it, startled by how immediate the feelings had been—he'd never felt his lion 'speak' so damned _emphatically_ before. "It... wow, it really hit you hard too, huh?"

An oddly calm sense of _no_ returned.

"...Oh. Um. Okay? You're sending mixed signals there, Green... you mean to say it didn't bother you?" As he spoke Pidge found himself approaching the mouth of the cave, the exit of Green Lion's den, catching his first glimpse of the outside world in days. It was dark. Appropriate.

The lion didn't respond immediately. Then it flooded him with impulses, building an image. A sense of destruction, spectacular destruction, wading through blood and fire—and yet it carried with it a feeling of normality. Perhaps even righteousness.

Pidge's eyes widened._ Of course. Voltron the Destroyer. _ Voltron was built for a destructive purpose, why would the lions be shaken by such a thing? But then... where had the feelings Green sent him come from?

The lion answered before he could even voice the question. Answered with a surge of sensations he couldn't interpret, but with the surge came... words. Broken, halting, voiceless words.

_Heart of alacrity. You_.

"...Oh." The word came out as a whisper. "From... me? That's what I...?"

He didn't _remember_. Didn't remember feeling anything in that moment, it was all just a blank, a blur. Oh, he'd run the whole range of emotions _since_. But then? Green Lion's words sparked something in him, a fragment of a memory, from just before he'd completely shut himself down or whatever he'd done to flee the reality. A voice that wasn't a voice. Words calling out to him. Calling him something.

Heart of alacrity.

"Is that what you call me, Green? Heart of alacrity?" he asked softly, staring out at the forest. A flicker of an affirmative, and he nodded. It wasn't a bad name. Names were gifts to be honored, and he would honor this one, but a different name mattered now. A name he'd been given by someone who couldn't have dreamed how apt it would become.

Someone who would, no doubt, tell him to stop moping and carry on...

"I'm okay with that from you, Green, but most people call me Pidge." His eyes narrowed. "My name's Pidge, and it means _survivor_. And I... I'm gonna survive this, Green Lion! I have to, and I will!"

He felt more than heard the growl of approval. A powerful wind was whipping up, ruffling his hair and tugging at his already disheveled uniform... it could be a coincidence, of course.

Sure it was.

The sun was rising; or at least he assumed that was why light was beginning to filter through the trees. Pidge turned away from it. He didn't need sappy metaphors to pull himself together again. No. It was time to put this reality behind him. Put it aside, shut it down, do whatever it took not to have to feel... whatever it took to survive. That was how it had always been. That was how it would always be.

He could deal with that.

* * *

><p>"We've received a communication from the Drule Supreme Council." Marshal Graham looked over his own council and waited for their startled looks to fade. The last time the full Drule council had sent such a message, it had been about ending the Rift War. "An agreement was reached. Zarkon has gone too far for the Drules to have any interest in defending him, and apparently he doesn't particularly want their help. So long as we don't provoke any of the other kingdoms, they will leave it to us to put the Ninth in their place... if we can."<p>

A round of shocked whispers went around the table. It was quite the disavowal. "Can we trust them?"

"Absolutely not! Just you watch. If we pull our forces from the front lines in Andromeda, surely they won't be able to resist."

"When's the last time the Drules actually outright lied to us?"

"Depends on your definition of lying."

The marshal held up a hand for silence, and the other officers immediately ended their banter. "You all know how fiercely the Supremacy values honor and discipline. We've had individual communications from several kingdoms, as well as the declaration from the Council. The Sixth and Tenth Kingdoms are offering formal peace treaties for the duration of our conflict with the Ninth, and the Third has declared that any units of theirs which strike our holdings will be considered rogue and hunted accordingly."

The kingdoms in question weren't a great surprise. Both the Sixth and Tenth inhabited galaxies Alliance technology could not yet reach, and often took a softer line on conflicts. The Third was in the opposite situation; a large portion of its territory was within the Milky Way, and their vulnerability made them uninterested in provocation.

Even so, it was one thing to stay out of a conflict. It was something else entirely to advertise the fact. The Drules put great stock in symbols and gestures, and this was a hell of a gesture. Another round of murmurs swept down the table, but there were no more outbursts.

"On that subject." Graham fixed his gaze on his head of engineering for a few moments, then looked around the whole table once more. "As we discussed at our last meeting, the Ninth Kingdom is claiming the destruction of Balto was justified."

Answering nods. They'd all seen the official explanation, and most of them had thrown indignant fits behind closed doors... if not at the council table itself.

"This behavior will not be tolerated. We've been receiving a wealth of information from Arus about Voltron and its workings. I want it all analyzed. Develop a new schematic, summon any scientists from any race you require. This atrocity is going to backfire as purely as possible." He leaned forward. "Now they're going to have _two_ Voltrons to deal with."

* * *

><p>The last team meeting had literally been painful. Allura had been forced to put up some very powerful shields that day, screening out the tension and anger enough to be functional. She'd called the group to the same conference room again, hoping things would be better this time.<p>

Would they?

Keith was already there when she arrived, pacing as Hunk quietly looked on. "Morning, Allura. So what's this about? 'Show up at 10' isn't much to go on."

Right. She supposed maybe she _could_ have been a little more specific with the summons, but there was no sense explaining it now. "Just something to run by the team." She grimaced a little. "All of the team, preferably. I hope Pidge will be here..."

"I can go get him if we need," Hunk offered. "Been dropping in on him every day, he keeps pretendin' to be asleep, but he's _not_, so..." Sigh. "But I don't think that'll be necessary. It's Pidge. If it's important he'll be here."

Allura offered the big man an encouraging smile. It didn't take a spirit talker to pick up on what was going through his head lately... and she found his faith in his young friend endearing, even if others might call it naive.

The door swung open and Lance entered, exactly on time, looking cheerful but moving with a little less than his usual swagger. "Hey, guys." His face fell as he glanced over the room, then at his wristcomp, then around the room again. "...Pidge didn't make it?"

Allura sighed. "Seems not."

"Okay, Hunk." Keith stopped pacing, giving the engineer a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, but I think you'd better go haul him up here—"

"—So I'm a minute late. Sheesh. Tough crowd."

Everyone swung to face the doorway, four pairs of eyes locking on the slim form who'd appeared in Lance's shadow. "Pidge!"

"What?" He crossed his arms, looking curious, perhaps even a little challenging. "We've got work to do, right? So here I am, what's up?"

Cautiously, Allura tried to reach out to the little warrior. Trying to sense if this was truth or an act, which didn't take much—last time she'd seen him he'd been an empty shell, radiating the occasional pulse of despair. Now he seemed... he seemed so _normal_. So much like _himself_. And when his green eyes flickered over to meet hers, she realized with a soft gasp that this wasn't a mask.

Not entirely.

"...Okay." Suddenly everyone was looking at _her_, which was only fitting, since she'd called the meeting. "I don't know if any of you have heard rumors from the staff about this already, but this Saturday we're holding a... not a celebration, exactly, but a day of remembrance. Arus has been blessed to survive and recover from Zarkon's cruelty." Her fists clenched at her sides, unbidden; she still couldn't prevent her own anger from bubbling up at the Drule king's name. "We owe it to our survivors, and all others who've suffered from the Supremacy's actions, to remember and reflect."

Pidge glanced down at the floor, taking it in; Lance was watching her silently with embers gleaming in his eyes. Keith crossed his arms and looked thoughtful, while Hunk nodded a wordless agreement with her reasoning. The commander spoke when it was clear nobody else intended to. "Sounds like a good plan, and I'm assuming you'd like Voltron to be there, is that it?"

"Yes, but that's not all of it. The four of you have been so integral to our recovery... and now Voltron stands as a beacon of hope for this galaxy, not just Arus alone. I want to recognize that."

Grinning, Lance dropped into a seat. "Sounds cool!" Pidge rolled his eyes, and Hunk snickered. "What? I think it's a wonderful idea!"

"Of course you do, Lance." Keith's thoughtful expression didn't waver. "What did you have in mind, Princess?"

_Well, here goes nothing_... "I'd like to knight all of you."

For the second team meeting in a row, time seemed to stop.

Allura swept her gaze over the room, a little nervous at the silence. Her grand plans did not actually account for the possibility that the group might not agree to this, which was suddenly seeming like a _terrible_ oversight. Even Lance's smirk had turned to a wide-eyed stare. What had she expected? Earth hadn't had monarchies for centuries, let alone knights. And Balto... she hadn't exactly studied its civic procedures, but something told her they'd _never_ had such a thing.

It was Hunk who recovered first, as he often tended to do, and he took a surprisingly practical angle. "Uh, are your people gonna be okay with that? They already act sort of terrified of us half the time, when it's just—well, heck, you've seen how chelvor goes."

A much-needed laugh escaped the princess at the question. "Honestly, Hunk? That's part of why I thought it would be a good idea. The Star Knights served Arus for centuries, and of course they were seen as heroes, but they weren't seen as something... alien, if you'll pardon the term. We looked up to them, but felt comfortable in their presence." She looked to the others. "These _are_ true noble titles... among other things, they confer Arusian citizenship. The Alliance recognizes multiple citizenship, mind you—I wouldn't ever ask any of you to renounce your homes—but that fact will not be lost on my people."

She thought she felt a flicker of discomfort from someone at that last part, but she couldn't place it, and then Keith was speaking and it was gone. "That... would be a great honor, Princess. But, and with all due respect, aren't prospective Star Knights supposed to go on some sort of pilgrimage before they can be given the title? I'm not entirely sure we can afford the time for that right now."

_How in the...? Did an Earthling just drop the Odyssey Clause on me? Well, he _is_ nothing if not thorough. _Allura smiled and shook her head. Leave it to Keith. "Normally, but I convinced Coran we could waive that requirement in this case. Especially given that you're already carrying pretty much all of the duties of the Star Knights, you may as well carry the honors."

"Well then, I'm convinced," Lance declared enthusiastically, kicking back in his seat. "I mean, I was totally worried there until you brought that up, Chief, but _now_ I'm convinced."

Keith elbowed him and looked back at Allura. "Then if that's what you think is best, Princess... it would be an honor."

Hunk and Pidge exchanged glances. There was a lot running between them there, she could tell; far more than just the question being put to the team. But that was to be expected. Then Hunk looked up, nodded, and grinned. "Count us in!" Pidge said nothing, but gestured his agreement. He was edging towards the door, though he didn't seem to be in a big hurry about it. More his usual habit of being the first out of the room whenever a meeting was over.

The commander of the Voltron Force could take a hint.

As Keith dismissed the team, Lance waited for the others to file out. His expression was gradually fading into a frown; mostly thoughtful right now, but she had a suspicion it would rapidly turn hostile if she said something he didn't like. The shift was disconcerting, as was the fact that he wasn't leaving... _tread slowly and carefully_. "Lance, is something wrong?"

"No." He shook his head. "Just got one other question about this knighting thing. I mean, you say we earned it, and I'm sure as all the hells not going to argue with that." A smirk. "But... more than just the _four_ of us earned it."

_Oh_. A wave of relief, and a slight smile crossed her face. "Lance... really? That's what you're worried about?" He had too little faith in her, but she couldn't truly fault him for that. His blood burned hot and his loyalty was strong. That was to be commended, not scolded. "You can't imagine I would have forgotten about him."

"...I just wanted to be sure." And with that, he walked out without another word.

* * *

><p>Politics. They couldn't even follow up on their grand blow against the Voltron Force's morale due to <em>politics<em>. Lotor hadn't expected that, though he now wondered why not. Of course the repercussions of such an unprecedented strike would require the king's full attention... and more to the point, his closest advisor's attention, which meant Haggar wasn't building any robeasts.

That was the problem with bold plans, and the bigger the plan, the bigger the problem. _No plan survives contact with reality. _Certainly the mission against Voltron was becoming an object lesson on that.

The _Admiral Lionbane_ and its fleet were down for minor repairs and maintenance, so Lotor had chosen to give his people a day off. That was important for morale, after all. Torath had submitted his transfer request earlier in the day; a bit disheartening, but nothing to be done for it. He'd written a fine recommendation and promoted Grayl to the vacant gunnery officer position.

Business done, the prince had forged out into the wilds of Korrinoth.

Letus Mountain was the highest peak on the planet, overshadowing the capital of Esselos and Nightstone Fortress itself. He started up the shallow slopes at its base slowly, saving his energy for when the climb would become more treacherous, when the brambles would start to disrupt the easy paths...

He'd climbed this mountain many times, trying different paths, different... plans. Yes. A fortunate metaphor, wasn't it? But he'd found during his schooling that being focused enough on one duty could make _anything_ seem like a metaphor for the task. Coming here was not a search for meaning or answers, it was a search for... peace, perhaps.

Lotor was angry.

Angry that he'd been forced into a cowardly mission he didn't want. Angry that he was now tainted by carrying it out. Angry that he couldn't even take immediate advantage of whatever it may have accomplished. And most of all, angry that the Ninth Kingdom had been dishonored, become a pariah standing alone without the backing of the Supremacy... and that his father had _welcomed_ that dishonor. Demanded it, even!

Perhaps half an hour into the climb, the thorns started to encroach. Kyazontus, the plant was called, a thick creeping vine which thrived in the higher altitudes of Korrinoth. And where kyazontus vines grew, the apex predator of the planet could not be far away... though the creatures were usually far too swift to be caught by Drule eyes.

Lotor slowed his pace, keeping a sharp watch as the brambles became thicker. The thorns of a full-grown vine could be three inches long and deadly sharp. A mindless, static danger, and yet a danger to be accorded full respect. Arrogance led to carelessness and injury, a lesson he'd learned well on previous climbs. He watched for movement as well, the softest flicker of shadow, though he expected to see no such thing.

He'd given himself three hours for the climb. Not near long enough to reach the peak, of course, but enough time to reach an outcropping he'd used often for meditation in his younger days. He'd missed this place during his studies on Straton, where crowded gymnasiums and ancient libraries simply weren't the same...

Gathering himself, he sat on his knees and gazed down at the castle in the distance. The mighty fortress where he would someday be expected to reign. Looking down at the fortress and the city around it made him feel closer to the ancestors, his eyes on their works, his body and soul free from any distractions.

He closed his eyes and began whispering in High Drulik.

"Kings of the past, kings of legend, of honor, of glory... before your memories I kneel in humility and admiration. Your teachings I intone, to remember. To learn." As it always did, the Royal Creed had an immediate calming effect, as though the ancient ones were acknowledging him. This invocation was one of the few areas where the Drule kingdoms had no differences; from the First to the Tenth, all spoke the same words.

And, perhaps, acknowledged the same legends... the past kings of the Ninth weren't exactly known for their sanity. But these words traced back to the First Empire itself.

"The true path of life lies not in self-denial, but in discipline... for there is a time and a place for every thought, every feeling. To deny that would devastate the soul. We shall fear neither the embrace of love nor hate, laughter nor sorrow, forgiveness nor vengeance..." He had once stumbled over these words, formal and unforgiving. No longer. The truths made the phrasing come easily.

"We shall temper our hearts and minds... channel the ebb and flow of our energy so as to recognize the need for both peace and conquest, tranquility and war, the showing of mercy... and merciless destruction." At those last words, the shattering of Balto flashed before his eyes—he'd made a point of watching the feeds. He was not about to carry out an act he couldn't even bear to watch. "Only thus may a prince truly become a king."

His father had once recited these words as well, of course. Perhaps he still did. Did he live them? There was much within the Creed to be argued. The proper time to embrace such feelings and actions was different for everyone, after all. Who could know which path was wisest?

"Galra kulvraga sa mutsorus," he murmured, and looked up.

Two sharp black eyes were fixed on him.

Letting out only a slight gasp, Lotor gazed back at the ebon-furred creature. A thornwalker wolf, Korrinoth's most majestic predator, and the animal which appeared on his own personal heraldry... he murmured a soft prayer to Ralimar, patron of such animals. God of unity and teamwork, of the pack. Surely the Harmonious One must have blessed him, for the wolf to approach this way...

"What brings you to me, noble one? The words of the ancient creed?"

The wolf startled and slipped off into the darkness at his question, but he thought it might have given a nod of approval before vanishing.

An omen.

As he started back down the mountain, Lotor had no doubt of that. _His_ path was correct.

* * *

><p>Naturally, Keith's first stop after the meeting was the castle archives, to go do research on the proper behavior and protocols for being knighted. Hunk was amused. He'd have made some comment about being amused, but he had other priorities, because Pidge was there. And Pidge, for the first time since Balto's destruction, was actually acting like Pidge... if maybe trying a tiny bit too hard.<p>

After about two minutes of just aimlessly wandering the halls together, he couldn't take it anymore. He reached down and gave his little buddy the biggest hug he could give.

_"HUNK!_ Dammit, Hunk, cut that out!"

"Nope!"

"Oh for..." After quite a bit of ineffectual flailing, the squirming form in his arms somehow managed to flip himself, kicking off Hunk's chest and going face-first to the floor, where he sat and gasped for air. "Honestly... big guy... hasn't anyone... ever told you... oxygen is not... optional!"

Hunk roared with laughter. "Welcome back, Pidge."

The indignant look on his friend's face faded, replaced with a smile. "Yeah, I... yeah. Thanks for that, Hunk." He sighed and stood up, leaning against the wall. "I've kind of been out of it lately, huh?"

"Yeah, kind of." He was wary about agreeing with that, not wanting to send Pidge back to... wherever it was that he'd been lately, exactly, locked down inside his own head. But not acknowledging what he _was_ willing to say wouldn't help any, either. "So, uh. Do you want to talk now?"

For a moment Pidge froze again. That same shadow passing over him that had appeared the day after, where he'd looked at Hunk with such terrible, dead eyes... but then it was gone. Gone completely. A faintly inquiring look replaced it. "Talk about what?"

_...Oookay then. Again._ "About what you've been up to the last few days, I guess. Or about why you've been out of it. You know, stuff like that. Or anything you want to, really?"

The shadow passed again, but seemed to fade even faster this time. "Actually... yeah. Yeah, there is something I want to talk about, if you've got a minute."

"For you, little buddy? Always. You know that." Hunk tried to keep the relief from his face, and was pretty sure he'd failed miserably, but the other engineer didn't comment on it. "So what's on your mind?"

"I don't know about this knighting thing." Pidge looked down at the floor he'd faceplanted a few minutes earlier. "I mean, I wasn't really... thinking about it before, it sounded like such a logical thing when Allura explained it. Still does." Sigh. "All... very logical."

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Hunk frowned, motioned for his friend to come stand beside him. This was definitely not what he'd been expecting to talk about, but if this was what Pidge wanted to start with, then this was where they would start. "Okay, and despite what you'd like to try to convince yourself, logic ain't everything. Talk to me, little buddy. What's bugging you?"

"Citizenship." Pidge didn't move. Probably fearing another hug ambush, which might not be as paranoid as it sounded. "I'm not sure I want that. Not that I've got anything against Arus, and I know she said the Alliance recognizes dual citizenship. It's just the timing. Doing this right after Balto..."

And that was where he stopped dead. The shadow cloaked him, emerald eyes frosting over, murmuring something unintelligible.

Hunk gave it a minute, then put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Pidge? It's okay... you don't have to say it, I know where that was going..."

"Oh, do you?" The frost cleared, as startlingly swift as it had fallen. "Good, because I completely lost my train of thought there. Uh, actually, you know what? Forget it." He grinned. Actually _grinned_. "I'm okay. Just had a weird thought there for a minute. You want to go run some maintenance checks or something? I know I've been slacking."

Sudden reality crashed cold and hard into Hunk's mind. _He's in denial. _He had been since day one—maybe since the very moment Balto shattered. And he was quite firmly entrenched there, even if things like being given a new citizenship could breach those barriers for a few confused moments...

"...Yeah. Yeah, little buddy. Let's go do that." He tried for a grin. What else could he do? The last thing he wanted was to try to hammer the reality into his best friend's savaged psyche. So there was only one option. He would play along, wait it out... and be there when the dam broke.

Sooner or later, it would _have_ to break.

* * *

><p>Destroyed.<p>

Balto had been _destroyed_.

It was unheard of. Unfathomable, really. Who could've imagined the Drules would have the ability, let alone the guts, to outright reduce a planet to rubble?

Might've warned him about that.

_Was it worth it? _Wade snarled at himself as he looked through his comms. The Alliance knew the game now, of course. Damned Drules and their damned political points had done everything but outright blow his cover. Information on the Voltron Force was, after all, highly classified. The hunt for the mole was on.

Of course he'd covered his tracks flawlessly. Wouldn't be able to send anything else to Zarkon, but he didn't have much desire to anymore anyway. Bastard. It wasn't supposed to be like that, wasn't supposed to be a whole planet turned to dust. Just an attack. A warning. A little morale blow. Not a galaxy-changing event.

Really the Drules weren't any better than the Alliance. Sure, they paid well. But they were just as unreliable, just as foolish. Wade looked over the messages again, noted a report from the R&D department on a new task ordered by Marshal Graham himself. Some kind of robotics enterprise beyond anything the Alliance had attempted before.

That _was_ interesting. Such work was a hobby of his, after all, and had been since he found himself alone and pushing paper after the Rift War. Humans and Drules were worthless. Machines were better; machines did as they were told. Machines were precise and unsurprising. Machines didn't make mistakes, like causing massive acid explosions during supposedly routine lab tests.

Machines didn't _die_ from such things, like his wife had...

Human error. Of all the distasteful things in the universe, human error was what Wade detested most.

He looked at the reports on Balto again, lip curling in disgust. If machines ran the universe, this sort of nonsense wouldn't happen. Why would it need to? The Alliance, the Drules... neither of them could be the future. Oh no. The future would be in the metal hands of far more perfect beings.

...Machines did need someone to take orders _from_, of course...

Looking over the new project's parameters again, Wade allowed himself a smile.

* * *

><p>The Star Knights had consisted of five orders, each representing one of the elements, and in combat often worked in units composed of equal numbers from each. It was fitting, somehow, that they would now be represented by the lions. As if each order had come together to form one perfect war machine. That the lions themselves were arrayed behind the stage, gazing down upon the ceremony as if to grant their blessing, did nothing to alter that perception.<p>

Mostly, the day had been filled with solemn music and quiet conversation. Hundreds of the survivors who'd gathered were just now finding their way out of the Arusian caves into the sunlight. A few speeches had been given, but they were kept short and heartfelt. Allura was glad of that; this was a day for remembrance, not pontificating. Sunset was nearly upon them, and the scheduling had been intentional. End the ceremony, and the day of mourning, with a moment of hope.

The princess looked out at her people and smiled. "Less than a year ago, the forces of Doom struck at this world. They believed they could end us, break us. But they did not. We survived. We brought neighbors and strangers into our shelters, we endured pain and terror and loss. I," she bowed her head, "am honored to speak of myself as one of you... even this Castle of Lions crumbled under that assault, though I know I cannot imagine what many of you faced." She motioned back to the lions, then to the four warriors standing at her side. "But because the people of Arus persevered... my father's vision was realized. This planet now stands on the front lines of the Alliance's war against Zarkon's wickedness, and make no mistake, we stand there _proudly_."

Her words drew a cheer, and while Allura had initially had more remarks on that subject planned, she decided the cheer meant she'd said enough. More than fine with her. Public speaking was a far cry from the privacy of the catacombs where she'd trained, and was still hardly a strong point.

She gestured to the Voltron Force once more. "You all know these warriors. You've spoken of them in whispers, viewed them as legends. Aliens sent by the Alliance to deliver our world. But in their time here, they have become far more than our champions. They are our brothers, giving all they have to the rebuilding of Arus... and I would honor that today."

Now a hush swept over the crowd, and Allura picked up the first of the medals from the table beside her. The ribbon was silver, as they all were. Silver was the color of war—of gleaming steel and shining armor, of the nobility which the Star Knights had both participated in and protected.

The first medal was yellow. The color of earth. "For service to Arus above all that was asked, and for bonding to the Yellow Lion to save our world from destruction. For taking the forefront in rebuilding the Castle of Lions, and steadying the hand of the Voltron Force." Hunk moved forward quietly at her gesture, as solemn as she'd ever seen him. "I grant this title. Hunk Garrett, Knight of the Order of Earth."

They'd had a brief debate over whether to use his full name or not. Coran—and more loudly, Nanny—hardly felt 'Hunk' was appropriately dignified. But Allura had chosen to use the nickname, because Hunk was Hunk. Tsuyoshi was some strange, exotic name that maybe he carried, but it wasn't _Hunk_. She smiled as she looped the ribbon around his neck, then turned to the next medal. Green, the color of the invisible wind sweeping over the meadows of Arus.

"For service to Arus above all that was asked, and for bonding to the Green Lion to save our world from destruction." The wording on this was delicate. She'd wanted to speak the truth about Pidge, about what he'd lost... but been strongly advised not to. And she wasn't about to doubt Hunk where his small friend was concerned. "For leading the rebuilding of our networks, rendering Arus no longer mute and blind to the galaxy, and guiding the tactics of the Voltron Force. I grant this title. Pidge, Knight of the Order of Wind." He looked awed as she placed the ribbon on him, the gravity of the ceremony perhaps just then sinking in.

The next medal was red, the color of flame, the metal slightly warm from the time it had spent in the sun. "For service to Arus above all that was asked, and for bonding to the Red Lion to save our world from destruction." This wording, too, was delicate. But in this case both Lance and Keith had insisted she include something to this effect... she hoped it would be alright. "For bearing the spark of the Voltron Force, and for overcoming all that has challenged him, facing both external foes and internal flaws with equal strength... I grant this title. Lance McClain, Knight of the Order of Flame." She was almost nervous as she slipped the ribbon around his neck. He met her eyes, his own shining, and gave a barely perceptible nod.

Allura couldn't help noticing that Keith's pale eyes held a hint of pride when he looked at Lance, but then it was his turn, as the princess approached with the next medal. Black, the color of the storm, of the gathering clouds which could unleash their will at a moments' notice. "For service to Arus above all that was asked, and for bonding to the Black Lion to save this world from destruction. For taking full and complete command of the Voltron Force, and performing beyond all expectations, most critically his own..." She hadn't run that particular wording by the commander, and smiled softly as his cheeks flushed. "I grant this title. Keith Kogane, Knight of the Order of the Storm."

There was one last medal, a blue one. The color of water. But it did not belong to Allura. Technically, she would be well within her rights to knight herself—royalty could hold any lower titles they wanted to, really. Allura had considered it, to show solidarity with her comrades, but in the end decided such a thing would overshadow their day of glory. There was no need for such arrogance. And besides, awarding _one_ blue medal today was enough.

She looked at Lance, motioned him forward again. Under most circumstances the unit's commander would stand in for the fallen in such a ceremony. But in this case... a small deviation from tradition seemed best.

"For service to Arus above and beyond all that could ever be asked," she said quietly, "and for bonding to the Blue Lion to save our world from destruction. For standing as the right hand of the Voltron Force, guiding its actions. And... for facing some of Doom's mightiest agents alone and without fear. For willingly offering up his own life, in the name of this world and his fellow warriors... I grant this title in absentia. Sven Holgersson, Knight of the Order of Water."

Lance held out his right arm, allowing her to loop the ribbon around it. Three loops, as tradition dictated for a warrior who was absent but not dead. And this time, when he saluted her, the gleam in his eyes was from unshed tears.

* * *

><p>The city of Sanela was bustling. Not that it was ever quiet, of course; this was one of the largest population centers on Ebb, and it never truly slept. But today the streets were packed even tighter than usual, the flood of people bustling a little faster. Businesslike. Nobody even took much notice of the Earthling, usually a curiosity, as he and the sanahar working with him left the hospital complex and forged into the throng.<p>

Of course the extra activity was not lost on Sven, whose sharp eyes darted over the city streets, lingering on nothing but also missing nothing. "What's going on?"

"Preparing for the injunction, I should imagine." Kylos studied the situation and decided they could go the scenic route today, picking side streets rather than having his patient trying to jostle through the worst of the crowds. "Nobody is quite certain how to react to such a thing; the last time Ebb issued an injunction was well before any living memory, and against a much less important faction."

Frown. "Injunction?"

_Ah, yes_. He supposed his patient wouldn't have heard; he'd shown very little interest in current events. "By the unanimous decision of Lord Sypat and the Asclepian Council, the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy has been placed under a trade boycott, and we will take no new patients from their realm."

At the mention of the Ninth Kingdom, he noticed a flare of tension. Brief but unmistakable. That was interesting, but as usual, the human gave no further information. "What brought that about? You said Ebb's neutrality is absolute."

Kylos shook his head. "Our ethical creed is constitutionally enshrined. We harm none, and aid all, so long as our aid does not further a moral atrocity... but the Ninth Kingdom has committed such an atrocity. They destroyed a planet."

"Destroyed a planet?" Sven gave him a derisive look. "They do that all the time, Kylos."

"No." The sanahar paused. He had little doubt now that he understood _who_ had inflicted his patient's injuries, at the very least. For a moment he wondered if it was best to explain Ebb's position on the war to someone so close to the conflict, but pushed those concerns aside. Sven was not friendly, but did seem open-minded. "The Drules and the Alliance devastate each others' worlds on a regular basis. This is not admirable, but it is merely warfare."

That got him a raised eyebrow. "Awfully callous for a planet full of doctors."

"We cannot save everyone. We save who we can and regret the rest."

"Right. We have a saying for that on Earth." Sven stopped and crossed his arms. "One death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic."

_Ouch_. It wasn't a charitable way of looking at it, but Kylos found he couldn't really argue with the logic, so he moved on. "What I mean when I say the Ninth Kingdom destroyed a planet is that the planet itself no longer exists."

Fear. A sudden burst of horrific fear. It took all of Kylos' empathic reflexes to keep it from crippling him. "What planet?" It was the closest Sven had ever come to yelling.

Hesitation. "I... I don't recall the name," he admitted, trying to keep his voice calm. "It was an Alliance world, but one not even actively participating in the war effort. Completely gratuitous. That's part of why the injunction was issued so swiftly. If it had been a major key to the war, we would have at least demanded they justify such a drastic action before banning them, but..." That was probably the wrong thing to say; disgust sparked in Sven's eyes. Kylos changed the subject. "I can certainly look up the name if you wish."

"No." Sven had calmed somewhat, though his contempt for the Ebbian outlook was still clear. "It's alright. That's all I need to know."

Out of the hospital they may be, but a sanahar never stopped working, and Kylos decided to press. Just a bit. "You were concerned it might be the planet you fought on, were you not?"

Shadows clouded the human's gaze. "I don't recall saying I fought anywhere."

"True, you have not stated it aloud."

They stared at each other. Time was irrelevant; Sven's chill locked with Kylos' searching light, the two battling as they had so many times before. Finally Sven laughed softly, took a step back. "Maybe I did... maybe I did. But I have no fear for that planet. The others still fighting there are far stronger than I could hope to be." He turned away. Faced the river. "That world will never fall."

Kylos tried to imagine warriors stronger than Sven, and the thought sent a shudder through him. Did they, too, walk in such darkness? Or had his injury done all of this?_ I must step up my efforts. The physical wounds heal, yet the mind only darkens further._

All things in time. They had plenty of time.


	9. More Letters

**Arusian Crusade: Pressure Point**  
>Epilogue: More Letters<p>

_And thus, another AC installment comes to an end. As always, thanks for reading, thanks for reviews, and hope you've enjoyed it!  
><em>_Part 5 is coming... where everything changes..._

* * *

><p>Dear Chip,<p>

So yeah, I know we haven't met, and this is kind of awkward. My name's Hunk. Pretty sure you've heard of me?

I'm sorry about Balto—really, really sorry. I mean, I don't have words for it and most of the words I come up with are so weird and formal they sound fake. So just... I'm sorry.

There's something you need to know. We were there—most importantly, Pidge was there. When Balto exploded, I mean. And he's in total denial about the whole thing. Honestly I think he really doesn't remember what he saw, I looked it up, it's called dissociative amnesia or something like that. Almost has to be, he's not that good a liar. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he'll open up to you, but I thought you should know just in case.

And this is double awkward. But if _you_ need to talk to anyone, or write I guess, I'm always open.

Hunk

* * *

><p>Dear Hunk,<p>

Thanks for the warning.

You're right, I've heard a ton about you, and it's nice to 'meet' you despite the circumstances. Hopefully we'll still manage to meet up face to face someday.

Don't cry for Balto on _my_ account. My only happy memories from there aren't about the planet, they're about two people. One of them's still alive. The other one wouldn't be too happy with me if I went on a murderous rampage in her name, so I guess I'll restrain myself.

If you really want to help, crack a few extra skulls for me your next time out.

I won't push Pidge. He'll come through eventually, you know how he is. Just keep an eye on him, but I know there's no real need to tell _you_ that.

Chip

* * *

><p>Dear Chip,<p>

How's the Academy treating you? Everything's pretty quiet here on Arus, it's actually getting almost boring. Just robeasts and more robeasts. Nothing interesting or creative at all. Guess I probably shouldn't complain about that, though.

Oh... and I'm a knight of Arus now. Engineering doesn't lead to anything interesting, huh?

Anything new on Earth?

Love,

Pidge

* * *

><p>Dear Pidge,<p>

You, a knight. Heh. I don't actually need to say anything snarky about that, do I?

Well, I took a bunch of electives in engineering, and there's some rumors going around the department. Guess some top Hydran and Salan scientists are on-planet for a major project, the rumors say it's some kind of 'vehicle Voltron'. Maybe those tech reports you keep relaying are paying off?

Nothing else new right now.

Love,

Chip

* * *

><p>Cadets Stoker and Adessi:<p>

Due to observations drawn from your current training and simulator scores, you are hereby ordered to report for an initial briefing and status check for participation in a new and unorthodox piloting project. This meeting is mandatory. Opt-out possibilities and procedures will be detailed following the briefing.

Meeting will be Monday at 0800 in Complex C, room 215B. Priority alpha. Your professors have been informed.

Lt. Donovan Brown

(Gen. Herbert Wade commanding)

Project Dairugger


End file.
